


Strange and Beautiful

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Plot, Angst, Awkward Kissing, Background Relationships, Coming Out, Draco Malfoy Being an Idiot, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Frottage, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Insomnia, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, Original Character Death(s), Pining, Slow Burn, background Neville longbottom/Blaise Zabini, eyewitness ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year after a summer spent dealing with Death Eater trials and rebuilding Hogwarts. Many of his year also return, including one person he never expected to see again; Draco Malfoy. There is one problem - Draco is little more than a ghost of his former self and Harry can’t stand it. He makes it his mission to get Draco to open up and reignite his spark, and through a combination of persistence and sheer stubbornness on Harry’s part, he succeeds. Harry even entertains the idea that perhaps they could be more than friends. But of course, things can’t go smoothly for them. Events outside of their control soon cause a rift between the two boys. Perhaps Harry and Draco were never meant to be.ON HIATUS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started life as an Eyewitness adaptation, but then it morphed, and evolved, and went running off in all sorts of unexpected directions. It’s still kind of Eyewitnessy at its heart, but you’ll really have to squint to see it.  
> The plot kind of takes a backseat to the fluffy angst because I can’t seem to stop myself writing it even when I’m specifically trying to be plotty, so I hope it doesn't get too lost.  
> The fic title comes from the song of the same name by Aqualung because I heard it for the first time in ages when I was writing this and it seemed to fit. It's a very pretty song, so go listen if you don't know it!  
> So, I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> UPDATE April 2018: Currently on hiatus

It was strange being back at school. Superficially, everything looked the same, but the changes were obvious if one paused long enough to take in the details. Harry gazed around the Great Hall, cataloguing what he saw and sorting it into little boxes in his mind: Same; Different; Wrong. The banners for the four houses; Same. Teachers sat at the top table; Same. Subdued chatter; Different. Nervous glances; Different. Gaps between students; Wrong. Memorial plaques; Wrong. Missing faces; Wrong wrong wrong. He hated this. Hogwarts was always his escape, despite all the crap that happened to him year after year between the thick stone walls. The good times and happy memories had always far outweighed any of the bad stuff. But now, he wasn’t sure if any amount of good could mask, or even balance out, the memories of the battle. 

A drop in the already subdued murmur of conversation drew his attention to the large double doors. He watched as Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall and made his way slowly to the Slytherin table without once glancing up from his feet. 

“Wow. I never expected that prat to show his face around here again. He’s got some nerve.” Ron muttered, scowling at Malfoy.

“That’s enough, Ron.” Hermione scolded. “If he’s here, it’s because Professor McGonagall believes he deserves a second chance, so leave him be.”

“But it’s Malfoy! He’s a bloody Death Eater! They should have locked him up and thrown away the key. I’m telling you, if he so much as sneers at you, I’m hexing his bollocks off.”

“Ron! I’m more than capable of looking after myself, thank you very much, so just grow up!” Hermione huffed and pointedly opened the book in front of her, effectively stating that she was done with the conversation. Ron wasn’t put off quite so easily though.

Harry watched in silence as his two best friends bickered. He’d long ago learned that it was best to just leave them to it otherwise he would get dragged in and forced to take sides. 

“Come on Harry, you’re with me, right? There’s no place for that pointy-faced ferret here.” Said Ron, turning to face Harry, his eyes wide with the expectation that Harry would back him up. So much for not getting dragged in.

Harry paused and scanned his friends’ faces. He really could not care less whether Malfoy was here or not, as long as he didn’t try and start trouble. However, he didn’t fancy getting in a row with Ron at the welcome feast. “It’s not my place to say who should or shouldn’t be here.” He said eventually, opting for a diplomatic non-answer. 

Ron grinned and turned back to Hermione. “See! Harry’s with me!”

“That’s not what he said at all! Honestly, do you ever listen?” Hermione looked across the table, pinning Harry to the bench with her glare. “Harry, explain to Ron what you actually said, and be sure to use baby words so he understands.”

Harry glared at the pair of them but didn’t answer. Upon his silence, they huffed and continued their disagreement without him. He did not need this. Being here was hard enough without having to listen to the two people he loved more than anything in the world squabbling like a pair of five-year-olds. He could feel his anger and frustration, already close to the surface, surging upwards, eager for a release. He clenched his fists in his lap and took a few deep breaths. It wouldn’t do to fly into a rage, not over something so inconsequential, and not in front of the whole school. 

Thankfully he was spared having to listen to anymore arguing by the arrival of the new first years, trotting along behind Hagrid like a raft of ducklings desperate to keep up with their mother. Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips as he watched them, so small and nervous, yet positively vibrating with excitement. It brought back fond memories of his own arrival, way back when he was just a frightened little boy filled with wonder at the amazing new world that had opened up in front of him. If only he’d known what was coming, he thought bitterly. Would he have been so thrilled to be here if he’d known he was little better than a sacrificial lamb? He sighed. Probably. Merlin, anything was preferable to the Dursleys! And besides, he’d met some pretty amazing people, even if half of them had died.

As Harry felt his thoughts start to take a dark turn, he turned his attention to the Slytherin table. Now that Ron and Hermione were occupied by the Sorting ceremony, there was nothing to distract him. His eyes were immediately drawn to Malfoy, who was sat rigidly between Pansy and Zabini, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. Harry hadn’t seen him since the trials at the start of Summer, but the boy’s gaunt, broken, appearance hadn’t improved; if anything, he looked even worse. His clothes and hair were still immaculate, but dark smudges beneath his eyes and sunken cheeks hinted at a person who no longer slept or ate particularly well. 

Harry wondered, not for the first time, what Malfoy had been up to after being pardoned for his involvement with the Death Eaters. When Draco hadn’t turned up to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts like most of the other 7th and 8th year students, Harry had imagined him lounging about somewhere hot with other rich, restless, playboys, his every whim being attended to by scantily clad witches. He could just picture it; Malfoy in a tiny pair of Muggle Speedos, his body glistening with droplets of water from where he’d just stepped out of the pool, maybe he’d have someone rub sun cream into his perfectly toned, alabaster skin … Harry abruptly put a stop to that line of thought. Where the fuck did that come from? He shook his head to rid the image, shocked at the path his thoughts had travelled. A flush crept up his neck and heated his cheeks and he felt the beginnings of arousal coiling in his gut. He really needed to get laid if Malfoy in Speedos was enough to set him off. Stupid hormones. Surreptitiously, he checked the faces of those around him to see if anyone had noticed his temporary discomposure, but it appeared they were all too intent on watching the Sorting ceremony to witness his sudden discomfort. 

Without the stress of imminent death, Harry’s libido had surged to life in the last few months. It was like his body was trying to make up for lost time, and he’d lost count of the number of inconvenient erections he’d had to will away. He was becoming quite proficient at visualising Hagrid in a bathing suit— his go-to image for getting out of a potentially sticky situation. With the rebirth of his libido came new questions about his sexual identity. His fantasies and wet dreams had all had a common thread; the protagonist was interchangeable, but the gender was invariably male. He’d not gotten round to telling anyone yet, but it was high on his mental ‘to do’ list, right under ‘ _have first kiss with a boy_ ’, and ‘ _don’t forget to buy new underwear_ ’.

Harry continued his appraisal of his former nemesis; he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Judging from Draco’s pale, drawn countenance, he clearly had not been living it up in some tropical paradise. In fact, it looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun for months. So what _had_ he been doing all Summer? Harry couldn’t help but feel concerned, though he wasn’t sure why. Out of everyone currently sat in the Great Hall, Malfoy was probably the only one who actually deserved to have had a shitty time of it this Summer, but for some reason, this didn’t sit well with Harry. The blond looked like his spirit had been crushed, like he’d been completely broken, and Harry suddenly realised he actually missed the self-assured prick who had lorded over Hogwarts since their first year.

Loud applause signalled the end of the ceremony. Harry forced himself to tune back into the proceedings as McGonagall welcomed the new and returning students, and preached about acceptance, forgiveness, and the intolerance of prejudice of any kind. Harry didn’t miss the suspicious, and in some cases resentful, glances that were thrown in the direction of the Slytherin table by many students and he felt a knot of worry form inside. He desperately hoped that people wouldn’t fall into old patterns of hate and distrust.

The big news of the feast was the announcement that students returning for their 8th year would have their own common room separate from the houses, along with various other perks such as only sharing two to a room, later curfews every night, and having the freedom to visit Hogsmeade every weekend. This was in exchange for them acting as ambassadors for inter-house unity, and McGonagall was very clear that privileges would be stripped at the first sign of bad behaviour. Harry didn’t think he imagined the pointed glare she sent him and Malfoy. He was fairly sure she had nothing to worry about there though; Malfoy looked like all the fight had been sucked out of him. The 8th years were all in agreement that it seemed like a fair trade off; all they had to was play nice together, and they got to spend every weekend getting pissed at the Three Broomsticks. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Seamus look so excited about anything.

Following the feast, the students filed out of the Great Hall to their respective houses, leaving just the 8th years, gathered in four rather pathetically small huddles around their house tables. Or rather, their _former_ house tables, Harry corrected himself, since they were apparently house-less now. McGonagall waited until the hall had emptied before instructing the 8th years to gather around her. Harry glanced around at the faces of the people he’d spent most of his teenage years with and saw reflected in them the same nervous excitement he himself felt. It was almost like being a first year again, and gathering around McGonagall for that first time, unsure of what was to come but excited nonetheless.

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall’s voice cut through his thoughts, “I assume you too will want to know where you’ll be sleeping?”

Harry hurriedly looked about him and saw that the group, lead by McGonagall had started to walk towards the door.

“What? Oh…sorry! Coming!” Harry trotted after the group, smiling apologetically at McGonagall as she pursed her lips. He could have sworn he saw a glimmer of amusement flash across her stern features, but it was so brief he could have been mistaken. 

As he caught up to his friends, Hermione smiled fondly at him and linked her arm in his. It was in equal parts both an expression of their friendship and insurance against him getting left behind again and he was reminded again why he loved her.

——

The entrance to the new 8th year common room was on the fourth floor behind a tapestry of what appeared to be an exceedingly smug-faced cat stretched out luxuriously on a plump sofa. McGonagall tapped the cat upon its nose with her wand, then uttered the password, _felix felices_ , and the tapestry pulled to the side like a curtain, revealing a narrow, stone archway. Everyone pushed forward and craned their necks to try and get a first glimpse of their new home for the next school year. Even though the majority of them had been at Hogwarts over the Summer to help with the rebuilding, none of them had had any clue that 8th years would be given their own space so there was a lot of excitement.

“That is enough!” Chided McGonagall. “Now step back and enter single file behind me. Come along. Don’t push! Honestly, it’s time you learned to comport yourselves like the young adults you apparently are.”

Despite McGonagall’s reprimand, Harry wasn’t alone in being eager to push his way into the common room, nor was he alone in staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his surroundings once he finally got through the narrow entrance way and into the large, irregularly shaped room. It was nothing at all like he’d imagined in the brief period of time he’d known about the existence of the room, although perhaps the obvious avoidance of house colours was to be expected. Dark woods were complemented by the teal and mocha tones of the soft furnishings and paintwork. Large windows dominated the far wall, offering spectacular views over the lake; Harry could immediately picture himself curled up with his friends on lazy Sunday afternoons in one of the several large cushions or bean bags that crowded the floor at their base. Further seating, in the form of sofas and armchairs, was available around the fire place, offering a cosy alternative to the window seats. Another wall was lined with bookshelves and encircled by desks and individual study cubicles— no prizes for guessing where Hermione would be found for the next year. But what impressed Harry the most was the well-stocked games area, complete with games tables and what looked like a small bar. 

Seamus had clearly just noticed the same things as Harry. “A bar! There’s a fucking bar! Did I die? Is this heaven?” 

Everyone looked around excitedly, the background chatter kicking up a notch.

“Quiet please! I will reiterate what I said at the welcome feast. As 8th years, we not only expect you to work hard to achieve your NEWTs and secure your futures, but you are also to set an example to the rest of the school about how young witches and wizards are expected to behave. As such, you should put to the back of your mind your former house affiliations and work hard on presenting a united front. It is vitally important that the younger years see that house allocation is not the be all or end all and that we can all get on regardless. Punishments for intolerance or bullying will be severe, and I will not hesitate to expel anyone who finds they cannot adhere to the rules. Am I understood?” 

There was a general murmur of assent. None of those gathered were keen to disagree with McGonagall to her face, but Harry hoped that they were taking her words on board and not just agreeing for the sake of the perks. 

“Thank you. Female dormitories are through the arch on your left, male dormitories through the arch on your right— I trust I don’t need to draw your attention to the rules about relations between students? No? Okay. If there are any issues, speak to one of your representatives— Miss Abbot or Mr Zabini —who will bring any pressing matters to my attention. Good night 8th years, and welcome back.”

McGonagall smiled. It was a small smile, little more than a quirk of her lips, but compared to her usual smiles it was full of warmth, and Harry could clearly see the affection she held for her students. She caught his eye and nodded briefly, then turned and left the 8th years to explore and get settled into their new home.

—

“Theo bloody Nott! Why do I have to room with Theo bloody Nott?! Why couldn’t they put us together?" Ron exclaimed.

“I’m not entirely sure his middle name actually is ‘bloody’.” Harry muttered in reply. They had gone for a walk in the grounds after finding out their new room allocations and having spent a bit of time nosing about their new common room, and Ron had been raging for going on an hour now. Harry was starting to lose his patience. Hermione had bowed out fifteen minutes earlier, claiming she wanted to take some time to settle into her room and get to know her new roommate, which had sent Ron on another rant demanding to know how she could be so calm about sharing with Pansy bleeding Parkinson. Harry suspected she was still drunk with glee at the prospect of being given the chance to tutor younger years for extra credit. (”Extra credit! Don’t you know what this means?” She had cried joyfully. Ron and Harry had just exchanged a sceptical look and grumbled about it sounding like extra, unnecessary, work, not something to get excited about. Hermione’s delight wasn’t dampened in the slightest by their lack of enthusiasm though.)

Ron glared at him. “Come on, doesn’t it seem stupid? What’s the point of splitting us up? They’re really going overboard with this ‘inter-house unity stuff. And no Quidditch! Can you believe it!? This is going to be the worst year EVER.”

Harry stared at him disbelievingly and Ron had the sense to look rather abashed as he mumbled out an apology.

“Hey, at least you’re not stuck with Blaise,” Harry said, deciding that if his best friend needed to rant and rage over something, he’d be better off joining in and letting him get it off his chest. “I’ve never seen so many grooming products. There is literally not an inch of space left in our bathroom. I had to transfigure a flannel into a shelf just so I had somewhere to put my toothbrush!”

“Ah mate, I can’t believe we all got shoved with Slytherins. McGonagall must be off her nut. I thought Neville was going to piss himself when he saw he was with Malfoy!”

Harry grinned at the memory of Neville’s face when he realised who his roommate was. He may be a decorated war hero now, capable of facing up to Voldemort and his wretched snake, but the prospect of cohabiting with Malfoy had turned him back into the nervous, chubby, little boy Harry had first met all those years ago. Malfoy hadn’t seemed phased at all. In fact, none of the Slytherins appeared to be too upset by their room allocations, suggesting that Malfoy’s spirit wasn’t the only one that had been broken. It was odd, seeing these formerly arrogant, self-assured people now acting so subdued, and it made Harry feel slightly sick. He almost missed being baited and glared at, and he decided he would do what he could to make sure people remembered that most Slytherins were just as much victims of Voldemort as the rest of them.

“Harry? I said we should get back to the common room. Did you hear anything I just said?”

Harry blinked a few times, trying to recall when he had tuned out of the conversation.”Er, yeah, sure. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.” 

Ron clasped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I know what you mean, mate. It’s so weird being back after everything that’s happened. I want to forget, but at the same time, I don’t. You know?”

He leaned into Ron’s touch but didn’t say anything in response; he knew Ron didn’t expect him to. They sat in an easy silence, both lost to thoughts of lost friends and family members, while they watched the moon’s reflection glittering across the lake. 

——

Blaise was lounging on his bed wearing only a pair of low-slung pyjama bottoms and leafing through what looked to be Harry’s latest Quidditch magazine when Harry finally returned from his walk with Ron. He didn’t know how long they’d spent outside, but the common room was empty when they returned so it must have been a while. Harry paused at the door, unsure whether or not he should announce his presence and give Blaise a chance to throw on a t-shirt or something; he looked so at home already that Harry felt a bit like he was intruding despite the room being his too. Thankfully, the other boy glanced up and saved Harry from his indecision.

“I know I’m gorgeous, but if you must ogle me, at least do it with the door closed. You’re letting in a draft.” Blaise drawled, before turning his attention back to the magazine.

Harry felt his cheeks redden and tore his eyes away from Blaise’s chest. He hadn’t even realised he was staring. Merlin! They’d been roommates for only a few hours and Blaise already thought he was a pervert. He mumbled out an apology and shuffled over to his bed on the opposite side of the room, keeping his eyes firmly on his feet. The two sides of the room were mirror images of each other; each side containing a four poster bed with deep purple drapes, a bedside table, a desk, a chair, and a wardrobe. Trunks were positioned at the foot of each bed, and a door in the centre, opposite the entrance, lead to their en suite bathroom. It really was an impressive space, and Harry had no idea how they managed to find the room for all 8th years to be sharing only two to a dorm. There must be some sort of extension charm or something, he thought and made a note to ask Hermione if she knew.

He rummaged in his trunk, haphazardly yanking items out and flinging them onto the floor as he looked for his pyjamas. Why did he not think to unpack properly earlier? Eventually, he located some sleepwear and clasped it victoriously in his hands, before remembering he had an audience. He glanced over to Blaise’s side of the room, then back to his side and grimaced. There wasn’t a single item out of place on Blaise’s side— even the boy himself looked like he was supposed to be there, whereas Harry had been in the room less than five minutes and it looked like a hippogriff nest. Not only would Blaise think he was a pervert, but a messy slob too. What a terrific start! He could hear Ron’s voice in his head mocking him for caring what Blaise thought of him, but Harry couldn’t help it; he didn’t want to make it any harder than necessary to room with him. 

“Potter.” Harry spun around guiltily at the sound of Blaise’s voice. He fully expected Blaise to inform him he would be requesting a new roommate. One who didn’t stare or act weird or litter their shared space with (clean!) underwear. What he actually said completely blindsided him. “I just wanted to say, ah, thanks. Thank you for what you’ve done for the Wizarding world, and I’m sorry for any and all shit I’ve done to you or said about you over the years. I know you’re probably not too happy about having to share a room with me, but I hope that we can put the past behind us and perhaps even call each other friend one day.” He stood up and held out his hand, his eyes boring into Harry defiantly, as if daring him to reject his apology.

Harry stared at the proffered hand. He was pretty sure Blaise had never spoken that many words to him in the whole time they’d known each other. He glanced up at Blaise, making a real effort to not allow his eyes to linger on his chest— easier said than done; his dark skin almost seemed to glow in the soft light of the candles and Harry found his eyes drawn in against his will. Blaise’s expression faltered, and Harry realised that he’d been holding out his hand for several awkward seconds and was awaiting some sort of response. He hastily reached over, clasped Blaise’s hand in his own and shook.

“Er, thanks? Apology accepted. Yes. Friends? Okay, that’ll be good, yeah.” He was rambling, and he knew he must have sounded like a prize idiot, but there was something about shaking hands with a beautiful, semi-naked man in a darkened room that seemed to short-wire his brain.

Blaise exhaled, his relief clear. “Great! Fantastic. I’m sure we’ll get along fabulously. Us pretty boys have to stick together, right?” Blaise grinned devilishly, his white teeth gleaming. “I’ll let you get on with your nightly ablutions. G’night Potter.”

Harry stared back dumbly before muttering a hasty “G’night!” and dashing off to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. _‘Pretty boy?’_ Why on earth had Blaise called him that? It must have been a joke. He’d never been called pretty in his life. Or even handsome. He knew he wasn’t exactly ugly, but he’d always considered himself to be fairly ordinary. His warm olive skin had tanned darker from spending the summer outdoors, and the manual labour and endless rounds of Quidditch had toned up his body a fair bit, but his hair was still the same inky black mop, hanging messily over his face, his clothes looked like they’d be rejected by even the most hard-up charity shop, and his glasses sat crookedly on his face. Blaise was clearly just attempting to flatter him and get on his good side. There was no way in hell Harry was in his league. He shook his head and chuckled embarrassedly as he recalled how flustered Blaise had made him. He was under no illusions that his final year at Hogwarts wouldn’t be difficult, but at least it would be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have their first brief interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of chapter one, so I'm not sure if whole lot actually happens. Just fluffy relationship buildery stuff.   
> Thanks everyone for reading. There are 5 chaps written so far, but it's all plotted out. It's becoming more of a beast than I originally intended though, so it's taking more time to write than i anticipated :/

The first days of term flew by in a blur of studying and extra curricular activities. The workload was already overwhelming and Harry had no idea how their teachers expected them to keep up the pace, but it felt good to have his brain stretched and exercised after close to a year on the run and a summer of hard physical work. He, Ron, and Hermione spent practically every free moment either in the library or around one of the study tables in the common room, working until either exhaustion drove them to their beds or they had to drag themselves to a class. Hermione had even convinced him to sign up for tutoring, so now, his previously free Wednesday morning was taken up with assisting the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher with the 2nd and 3rd year DADA classes. On top of that, he found himself committing to helping set up a new DADA club on Monday evenings for older students who wanted more practical sessions, and Ron had roped him into assisting him with coaching the Gryffindor Quidditch team. (”Just because we’re not officially Gryffindor anymore, doesn’t mean I want them to get their arses kicked, and with us coaching, no one else stands a chance!” Ron had crowed. It wasn’t the best argument, but Harry hadn’t taken much convincing to get involved with Quidditch again.)

The ex-Slytherin 8th years were still relatively subdued when walking around the school, but in the safety of the common room, most of them were starting to open up more and integrate themselves with the others. Harry was encouraged to see that despite all the bluster and fuss, Ron even seemed to be getting on with Theo. They didn’t really exchange many words, but he’d caught them glaring at each other across a chess board more than once, which was as good as declaring him ‘not a twat anymore’ in Ron-speak. Harry was also pleasantly surprised by how well he and Blaise got on. He was witty and intelligent, and the dry remarks he peppered their conversations with whenever they chatted often had Harry snorting with laughter, much to his embarrassment. 

The only dark shadow in an otherwise busy, yet enjoyable first couple weeks was Malfoy. He scarcely spent any time in the common room, and the rare times Harry had spotted him there, it appeared he was there under protest, having been dragged onto one of the sofas by Pansy or Blaise. Harry couldn’t even recall hearing him speak, other than to succinctly answer questions in class. He was like a ghost; present, but not really there. He kept to himself, studied hard, and didn’t cause any trouble, yet Harry couldn’t help the way his eyes tracked the other boy whenever they shared the same space, studying him and trying to figure out why the boy occupied so much room in his head. Part of him knew he should probably just try talking to Malfoy; it’s not like they were really enemies anymore, but it felt like a Big Step and the right opportunity never presented itself. 

——

The right opportunity eventually presented itself one night, at the end of the second week back, when Harry was rushing back to the common room hoping to scrape in before curfew. He’d spent the evening in the common room studying but realised at the last minute that he didn’t have the text he needed in order to finish his charms essay, so he decided to dash to the library before it shut. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a rather obscure text so it had taken longer than anticipated to locate, which was how he found himself with five minutes to get from one side of the castle to the other. The corridors were deserted; only 8th years and staff were allowed to wander the castle this late, so he didn’t expect to meet anyone else, except Filch if he was particularly unlucky.

Up two floors, two more corners, then he’d be safe, he thought to himself, provided the staircases behaved themselves. He kept his head down, too busy cursing his stupidity at leaving his invisibility cloak in his trunk to pay attention to his surroundings. He reached the bottom of the staircase and fidgeted impatiently while waiting for it to swing over, absently humming a Bluetones song he’d heard over the summer. At the sound of footsteps hurriedly approaching from the corridor to his left, he paused mid-hum and spun round, only to come face to face with the one person in the school, and possibly the whole of Wizarding Britain, who was actively avoiding him; Malfoy. 

“Potter,” said Malfoy, his eyes flicking to a point somewhere over Harry’s shoulder before fixing their gaze on the floor. He inclined his head ever so slightly then drew closer to the empty stairway and positioned himself beside Harry, about an arm’s length away, to wait for the staircase, which by this point was clearly taking the piss. Harry was irrationally annoyed at Malfoy’s refusal to meet his eyes or even acknowledge his presence beyond the initial curt greeting. He wanted to grab the other boy by the shoulders and shake him and yell in his face, demanding to know why he was avoiding everyone, why he couldn’t even look Harry in the eye. However, he suspected that approach wouldn’t go down too well with either Malfoy or, more importantly, McGonagall, so he settled for a more normal greeting.

“Malfoy.” He replied, eventually. 

Malfoy’s eyes briefly flicked in his direction and a muscle twitched in his jaw. This was the closest he’d been to Malfoy since, well, probably since he’d carried him out of the room of requirement on the back of a broom. Harry observed Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, entranced as the other boy swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and even in the low light of the corridor, Harry could see the pallor of his skin. He looked like he was awaiting an executioner rather than a staircase. Was he sick? 

Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to make an attempt at polite conversation, figuring that the worst that could happen would be Malfoy continuing to ignore his presence. Although if by some chance, it ended in a fist fight or a dual, he was confident he’d have no problems getting the upper-hand, given Malfoy’s current appearance, he thought grimly.

“So, ah, what’s with this weather, right? Raining one minute, sunny the next. Mental.” Harry cringed. He wanted to punch himself in the face, multiple times. Weather!? What was he thinking? And where was that bloody staircase? He hazarded another glance in Malfoy’s direction and saw the boy glaring at him. Well, at least he was finally looking at him, Harry thought; a glimmer of triumph shining through his embarrassment. 

“Don’t feel obliged to fill the silence. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, so let’s not pretend any different. Silence is, in fact, preferable if that is the best you can come up with.” He drawled, his confident, aristocratic voice somewhat at odds with his pale, drawn appearance.

“Oh, okay. Sure.” Harry mumbled, staring at his feet. He could feel the heat rising in his face, but he wasn’t sure whether it was the embarrassment of acting like a blithering idiot, or anger at Malfoy for being so bloody difficult. Who was he to say Harry didn’t like him? And why did it hurt so much to hear him explicitly state that he didn’t like Harry? He fumed quietly, trying to fathom out why he felt the need to interfere with Malfoy’s life. He was probably up to something nefarious again. That must be it. Why else would he be acting so un-Malfoy-like? 

The awkward silence dragged on for what felt like hours, but finally, the staircase swung over to meet them. They walked up together, the silence so thick Harry almost felt it press against him as they ascended the steps. 

“How was your Summer?” He blurted before his brain could catch up and clamp his mouth shut. He had never been good with awkward silences.

Malfoy turned his head and looked at him incredulously, but didn’t say anything.

The second staircase thankfully didn’t hang about and they were soon in front of the tapestry. Before Malfoy could reach up and swat the cat on the nose with his wand though, Harry grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Malfoy,” Malfoy startled at the sudden contact, then frowned at the hand clasped around his forearm and curled his lip in disgust. Harry ploughed on regardless. “Are you, um, okay? I know we’re not friends or anything, but you seem, I don’t know, different? and, well, I just wanted to check that everything is alright.”

Malfoy shook his arm out of Harry’s grasp and turned around to face him, their faces suddenly inches apart. “Am I okay? What do _you_ think, Potter? My father is rotting in Azkaban, my mother is sick with worry, and I’m lucky if I only get spat upon when I go out in public,” he hissed. “But really, thank you for your fake concern. Now kindly fuck off and go bother someone else.” Malfoy turned back to the tapestry. He tapped the cat’s nose, muttered the password and stepped through the archway into the narrow walkway as soon as the tapestry parted. 

“Yeah, well, for the record, I don’t dislike you and my concern isn’t fake, so there!” Harry yelled at his back as he disappeared. Malfoy faltered slightly, but didn’t respond, and why would he? Harry could have kicked himself. Or gone in for another round of face-punching. Why was he so incapable of interacting with Malfoy like a normal person?

Harry took a few minutes to calm himself, then stomped through the archway, the tapestry closing with a swish and sealing the entrance behind him. When he entered the common room, he caught sight of Malfoy and Blaise having a hushed discussion in the corner by the entrance to the boys’ dormitories. As he watched through narrowed eyes, an idea formed in his head. Blaise was one of the few people Malfoy actually spoke to, so he would surely know what was up with him. It was perfect! He just needed to work out how to broach the subject— the last thing he wanted was to piss Blaise off, and ruin the potentially rewarding friendship they’d struck up.

“Oi, Harry, you sitting down or what?” Ron bellowed from across the room.

“Wha..?” Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy and Blaise, and looked round to see Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Hannah staring up at him from where they were sat around the fire. “Oh, yeah, sure.” He mumbled, flopping down into the space on the sofa beside Neville. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re getting obsessed with Malfoy again,” Ron said with a weary sigh. He was curled up in an armchair with Hermione and they wore twin expressions of concern tinged with exasperation.

“I’m not obsessed! I was merely wondering what he was talking to Blaise about.” Harry said defensively. “And anyway, Blaise is my friend now so I’m allowed to wonder these things.” He added petulantly, in case there was any doubt over his motives.

“Actually, it looked like Blaise was having a go at him. He practically shoved Draco up against the wall to stop him running off.” Neville said, oblivious to everyone around him suddenly stopping their conversations and staring. 

Thankfully Ron took the lead and broke the stunned silence; Harry was still having a hard time remembering how to speak.

“ _Draco_? Since when did he become ‘ _Draco_ ’? Are you two mates now? Like Harry and his new _best fwend, Blaiseykins_?” Said Ron, his voice undulating mockingly at the end. 

Harry rolled his eyes. It sounded light-hearted, but Harry could see the tension in Ron’s shoulders as he leant forward to glare accusingly at Neville. He knew Ron would take a while longer to get over his ingrained prejudices about Slytherins, and Malfoy in particular, but at least he was trying. Sort of. Hermione whispered something into his ear which appeared to calm him down slightly, but he still looked ready to leap up and shake some sense into Neville at a moment’s notice.

Neville looked blankly at the group. “What? It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we stay up late chatting and braiding each others hair. We still barely exchange two words, but, you know, we had a talk and he apologised, and we decided to make an effort to start afresh. And part of that was to start calling each other by our first names.”

Harry missed the rest of the exchange. He was caught off-guard by the strong, unidentifiable, emotion that surged through him upon hearing Neville say he and Malfoy had talked and made their peace. Why would Malfoy talk to Neville and not Harry? What did he have that Harry didn’t? He turned his head slightly to observe the other boy with fresh eyes; strong jaw, tall, confident, well-muscled. He was a poster-boy for outdoorsy-rugged-handsomeness. When the hell had that happened? Maybe _that_ was what Malfoy saw in him, he thought bitterly. Harry could never be accused of being any of those things. He’d certainly bulked up a bit over the summer thanks to all the exercise, but he was still lean; his height would never be described as anything other than 'average'; and his features fell on the more feminine, delicate side of the spectrum. No one would ever call him ‘ruggedly handsome’, even with his scars (which Ron constantly informed him made him look like a 'bad boy'). He narrowed his eyes as the strong emotion that he refused to investigate surged forward again. He wasn’t jealous of Neville. Nope. He was concerned, that’s all. Concerned about his good friend Neville getting sucked into Malfoy’s schemes and not at all jealous that Malfoy opened up to Neville and not him. 

He spent a short while longer sat with his friends, vaguely listening to the conversation, but his head wasn’t in it; his thoughts constantly went back to Malfoy. Eventually, he gave up trying to be sociable and took himself off to bed, reasoning that his Malfoy-centric thoughts must be fueled by overtiredness.

Harry pushed open the door to his room, hoping that Blaise would still be up so he could quiz him about Malfoy and maybe ease his mind before going to sleep. Unfortunately, his room mate was nowhere to be seen, so Harry flopped down onto his bed with a frustrated huff and tried not to think too hard about why the whole Malfoy thing was riling him up. There was no way he was finishing that essay tonight. He dropped the book he’d put so much effort into locating on the floor and buried his face in his pillow, with every intention of waiting for Blaise to return. However, it wasn’t long before exhaustion dragged him, fully clothed and sprawled on top of his blankets, to sleep.

——

Harry groggily scratched his chest and tried to work some saliva into his mouth; he felt like he’d been asleep for a week. He tentatively opened one eye and immediately regretted it as the early-morning sunlight, usually blocked by the drapes around his bed, streamed through the window and into his face unhindered. The noise of the shower filtered through the bathroom door and the scent of Blaise’s exotically spiced bath products seeped under the door, tickling Harry’s nose and rousing him further. He raised one sleepy hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and found his path blocked by his glasses. Shit. A quick glance downwards showed he was still dressed in his school shirt and trousers, although thankfully he’d managed to kick his shoes off at some point so he didn’t feel like complete trash. Memories of the previous night trickled back as he became more awake: library, Malfoy, jealousy, waiting up for Blaise. Well, he clearly did a sterling job of that. Merlin, he must have looked like a right idiot, passed out on his bed; he couldn’t even blame alcohol, it was just pure exhaustion.

Slowly, he shuffled out of bed and stretched the kinks out of his back and shoulders. Would school continue to be this draining for the whole year? At least the mental and physical exhaustion helped stifle the nightmares. He’d only woken up screaming five or six times in the past three weeks, which had to be some kind of record. He cringed, remembering Blaise not so subtly suggesting that silencing charms on bed drapes were not just useful for covering up the noise of an energetic wank session after his sleep was disturbed for the fourth time. 

A book on the floor caught Harry’s attention and he groaned. The essay. He stumbled over to his desk, scooping the book up on his way past, and collapsed ungracefully into the chair, deciding that he really ought to make an attempt to finish it since he’d woken up so early. However, he only managed to write a paragraph before Blaise finally emerged from the bathroom in a fragrant cloud of steam twenty minutes later.

“The Saviour lives!” He proclaimed as he laid eyes on Harry.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Blaise grinned widely and dropped his towel. “Clearly not enough.” He busied himself with getting dressed for the day, a routine that regularly took at least half an hour, not including time spent in the shower.

Harry hastily averted his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Blaise stalking about their room completely naked. The boy had absolutely no shame, not that he had anything to be ashamed about; he truly was beautiful. But Harry didn’t want to get a reputation for being a bit of a lech. He often wondered whether Blaise would act the same way if he knew of Harry’s preferences, which would, in turn, lead him to wonder whether Blaise shared those preferences and was actually trying to seduce him…but he was always quick to kick those thoughts away. What would Blaise ever want with him? Yes, Blaise was beautiful and it would undoubtedly be all kinds of fun to have a go, but Blaise was known for being into… _casual_ …arrangements and Harry didn’t think he was really cut out for that. Besides, he hadn’t actually had any ‘hands on’ experience with a guy and he kind of clung to the idea, silly though probably was, that he wanted his first time to be special. One thing was certain though, any doubts he’d had as to his orientation were very quickly squashed after being confronted with Blaise’s body in various states of undress on a daily basis.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked back down at his essay, but it was no use; his focus was gone. Once he was certain Blaise had at least covered up his most intimate areas, he turned round in his chair to address him.

“Hey, Blaise, you’re friends with Malfoy, right?”

Blaise stopped halfway through buttoning his shirt and fixed Harry with a suspicious look. “Draco and I are friends, yes. Why?” He spoke slowly, carefully. Harry sensed he’d have to proceed with caution.

“Oh, no reason, really, I was just wondering, you know, since he’s been so quiet and, ah, different, since coming back to school, and well—”

“Spit it out, Harry,” Blaise said, quickly losing patience.

“Right, well, is he up to—”

“I strongly advise you don’t finish that sentence,” Blaise growled, cutting Harry off again. “Merlin. I thought you were supposed to be smart. Just leave him alone, okay? He doesn’t need you poking your nose in his business. He just wants to get through the year in one piece, get his NEWTs, and move on with his life as best he can. Okay?” Blaise grabbed his tie and robes off the bed and stalked out of their room leaving Harry blinking after him, his mouth hanging open uselessly.

“Don’t we all,” Harry said quietly as the door swung shut. Clearly, his roommate wasn’t going to provide any information about Malfoy, but Harry could respect him for being loyal to his friend. He moved to gather up his things so he could head down to breakfast, but upon catching his reflection in the mirror he realised he was still wearing the uniform he had passed out in, and saw that his hair was sticking out in new and interesting directions. He wasn’t sure even he could get away with looking so bedraggled all day, so he stripped off and jumped in the shower.

He made it to breakfast with five minutes to spare. There was no sign of Malfoy, or Blaise for that matter, but all thoughts of Slytherins were temporarily put out of his mind once Hermione hailed him over and started speculating about some vigilante justice thing she’d read in the Prophet. When she moved on to discussing her plans for the Arithmancy tutor group she was heading up, Harry took the opportunity to switch off his brain and just allowed her words to wash over him. He decided he was done with caring about what was up with Malfoy. Blaise was right; he should just leave him alone to get through the year in peace. Besides, Harry had far more pressing matters he needed to focus on, such as school work, career plans, and most importantly, working up the courage to come out to his friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco take the first steps towards friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading so far - here, have a new chapter! It's a bit of a beast compared to the first two, and I was going to split it, but it felt like it wanted to be together so I left it.  
> I may have taken some liberties with the scope of the Marauders Map, so hopefully, that doesn't upset anyone too much :/

As September drew to a close, Harry finally felt he had time to breathe. Both staff and students had settled back into the routine of school life, and maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry felt like the pace had lessened just a bit. The 8th years had even found time for a couple of Hogsmeade piss-ups, which had inevitably evolved into impromptu common room parties after they had staggered back to the school, and this had gone a long way to breaking down some of the barriers that remained between the houses. Things weren’t perfect, and old prejudices could still be seen bubbling under the surface in certain situations, but people were making an effort and Harry was pleasantly surprised by how much he was enjoying being back at school. For the first time since starting at Hogwarts, or ever if he was being completely honest, he was actually able to enjoy being a ‘normal’ teenage wizard, doing normal teenage things, without the shadow of death hanging over him, and he was determined to make the most of it. 

Unfortunately, Harry discovered that once his brain and body were no longer crippled with exhaustion every night, his nightmares started occurring with increasing frequency and intensity. After Blaise’s not-so-subtle suggestion, he was sure to cast a silencing charm on his bed drapes every night so at least he didn’t have to suffer the guilt of keeping the other boy up, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to calm himself down and fall back to sleep, particularly when the nightmares were more vivid. He needed fresh air, and he needed to move, but he was fairly sure Blaise would object to him throwing open the window and pacing the room, especially as the weather turned colder, so he just lay in his bed, tried not to think, and counted the folds in the drapes above his bed until he eventually dozed off into a fitful sleep. 

One night, after being thrust back into consciousness by a distinctly vicious nightmare, Harry decided that there was no way he could stay in bed. He had to go. Anywhere. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and fled through the common room, then stalked around the deserted corridors of the castle until his head cleared and he felt like he could try getting some more sleep. These nightly wanderings rapidly became something of a routine; whenever he awoke sweating and hoarse from screaming, he would go for a walk. The cold, dark corridors allowed him space to think and process and calm his thoughts down so he was ready to try for sleep again. He never saw any other people on his wanderings; student or teacher, but he always ensured he had his cloak on just in case.

By the fifth night in a row of sleep broken by nightmares, Harry was completely wrecked. Hermione had been throwing him concerned glances all week, so he knew he must look just as awful as he felt, but still the nightmares came. He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to slow his breathing so his heart would stop racing. He needed to leave, and get some space, but the tiredness had settled deep within his bones and he wasn’t sure if he could even stand, let alone walk anywhere. Eventually, on shaky legs, he made it out of the dorm, twisting and scrunching the cloak in sweaty hands. He paused before walking into the common from the corridor to the boys’ dorms; it looked so still and calm and safe. Pale moonlight spilt through the large windows, painting the common room with silver. On the opposite wall, the fire glowed softly, where it had been allowed to die down but not go out. The large sofas and armchairs surrounding it shielded the area from much of the moonlight and Harry eyed his favourite chair longingly, before moving reluctantly towards the exit. 

He stopped before ducking into the walkway and glanced back at the common room. Why was he forcing himself to go for a walk around the school again? He could barely put one foot in front of the other. He’d just needed to get out of bed, get out of his room, there was no need to torture himself with an hour’s trek about the corridors. Decision made, he walked over to the fireplace and collapsed into his favourite chair; a two-seater sofa piled with cushions that was perfectly positioned to enjoy both the view through the window and the steady warmth from the smouldering fire.

Harry sank back into the cushions and took a moment to relish in the softness as the chair moulded itself around his body. He leant his head back and pressed his palms into his eyes hard enough that lightning exploded beneath his eyelids with the vain hope that it would erase the images from the nightmare. It was no good though. It was never any good. He dragged his hands down his face and turned his gaze to the large window that dominated the room. He couldn’t see any of the school grounds or the surrounding countryside from his position, but he had a perfect view of the almost-full moon and the myriad of stars, obscured by only the faintest whisper of cloud in the sky. It was beautiful; so still, and calm. So vast and unending. Staring up at the night sky always made him feel so small and inconsequential, and already he could feel the fear, the pain, the horror, start to recede.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat there before he realised something was off. He could sense it. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, just a feeling that something wasn’t quite right; like being aware of the whine of a mosquito before the brain labels it as such. He cast his eyes about the room, searching the shadows for the source of his uneasiness, but found nothing. He put it down to still being riled from the nightmare and turned his gaze back to the window. And that’s when he saw him.

Malfoy.

Harry froze. He couldn’t even draw breath. Malfoy had been sat there the whole time and hadn’t said a word. What was he doing? Harry wanted to yell, to go up to him and demand to know why he was lurking in the shadows and spying on him, but he couldn’t move. Malfoy’s features were hidden by shadow, but Harry could feel the other boy’s eyes on him, pinning him to his seat. Harry matched his stare, both because he refused to be the first one to turn away and because he didn’t trust Malfoy not to draw his wand the second his attention faltered. He conveniently chose to ignore the fact that Malfoy had clearly been aware of his presence long before Harry had noticed him and hadn’t so much as lifted a finger against him.

As the seconds turned into minutes and the staring match continued, Harry’s shock and anger at being caught unawares started to retreat. He began to wonder why Malfoy was sitting by himself in the dark, and whether it was a nightly occurrence or an unlucky coincidence. Had he been here every night that Harry had stumbled through on his way to walk off his nightmares? Why hadn’t he said anything? Old Malfoy would have jumped at the chance to have an opportunity like this to insult him and hold against him. Did Malfoy now hate him so much that he wouldn’t even acknowledge him? Harry could feel the urge to say something, anything, bubbling up within him. He desperately wanted to break the spell that seemed to be pinning them both in position but despite all the questions racing through his brain, nothing made it as far as his lips. He opened his mouth, but as he drew a breath in preparation to speak, Malfoy flinched and looked away. Harry stared at him in confusion for a few moments longer, still warring internally about whether to speak or not, but Malfoy cut such a dejected figure— hunched up by the window, hugging his knees to his chest, his head resting against the glass —that he couldn’t find any words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to this new Malfoy. He’d already rejected Harry’s previous attempts at polite conversation, and insulting Malfoy in this state would just feel like kicking a puppy, there would be no challenge, no fun; so what was left? 

Harry sighed and tore his gaze from Malfoy, choosing instead to stare at the fire. He must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he knew, the room was filled with the hazy grey-blue light of pre-dawn and someone, probably a house-elf, had placed a blanket over him. He blinked groggily and stretched his arms over his head to pop out the kinks that had set in before stiffly getting up from the chair and moving over to the window, yawning widely. The sky was just light enough that he could make out the dark shapes of Thestrals twisting and turning in the air over the forest by the banks of the lake. It really was a spectacular view; it was no wonder Malfoy had chosen to… Malfoy! He spun round to look where Malfoy had been sat, but there was no one there. He cast his eyes about the rest of the room just to make sure Malfoy wasn’t lurking in a different corner, but he was completely alone; there was nothing but a blanket in a crumpled heap on the floor by his chair to suggest that anyone but Harry had been there at all. Had he imagined seeing Malfoy last night? Maybe it had been a dream. A weird dream, no doubt, and definitely not up to his usual standard, but it made sense that his subconscious would conjure Malfoy since the boy seemed to take up so much of his waking thoughts, even though he was determined to forget him.

Shrugging the whole night off, Harry made his way back to his bed to try and snatch a couple more hours of sleep. He was fairly certain that Malfoy’s appearance in the common room must have been nothing more than a figment of his over-tired imagination, but even so, he made a mental note to question Neville about his room mate’s night time activity, and then made a separate note to not breathe a word of it to Ron or Hermione. He’d tried really hard to act like Malfoy wasn’t a constant presence in his mind recently and this would do nothing to convince them he wasn’t getting obsessed again, especially if, as he now believed, he’d imagined the whole thing.

———

Nightmares continued to force Harry from his bed almost every night, and each night, without fail, he saw Malfoy in the common room, always in the same place, huddled up against the window, and always with a dark blanket or cloak wrapped around his body, so Harry was forced to accept that he wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Harry hadn’t stopped in the common room since that first night, but he never failed to lock eyes with Malfoy on his way through. He was always gone by the time Harry returned though. During the day, Malfoy still avoided him and certainly never acknowledged the nightly staring contests; if anything, he was even colder and more distant. He seemed to be closing himself off from everyone and was even spending less time with Pansy and Blaise, although Harry couldn’t be sure whether that was because he’d pushed them away, or because unlike Malfoy, they’d started to make friends with other 8th years and so were drifting away from him. It was tearing Harry up, seeing him like this, and he couldn’t help staring at him, watching him, trying to work out what was wrong.

Neville remained elusive, so after several days Harry still hadn’t found a good opportunity to speak to him about his roommate’s nightly habits. It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t seen him, but he always appeared to be in a hurry to go somewhere or was with someone (usually Blaise, for some strange reason, but there were lots of strange friendships sprouting up between 8th years these days so Harry decided not to think too hard about it), so it was never the right time to start the whole _“Does Malfoy get up to anything odd at night”_ conversation. He’d briefly considered asking Blaise about it, but judging by how well it went last time he’d pressed for information about Malfoy, he didn’t think it would be appreciated.

A few nights after they’d started their silent communication, Harry nodded to Malfoy as their eyes met. A silent greeting that was so simple, Harry kicked himself for not thinking to do it sooner. Malfoy’s eyes widened briefly, but then he nodded back, and Harry rejoiced internally at having finally gotten a positive reaction, no matter how small. He was unable to stifle his grin as he stalked through the corridors that night, and even though Malfoy had gone back to bed by the time he returned, it still didn’t dampen his mood. 

Within two weeks Harry had graduated from small nods, to nods with a smile, to nods with a smile and a ‘good night’, and it thrilled him that every time he added a new depth to their greeting, Malfoy matched him. Disappointingly though, this thawing of their relationship, or whatever the hell they had, didn’t spill over into the daytime, and Malfoy remained as cold and as distant as always. It was beyond frustrating. No matter how often Harry tried to initiate the same level of greeting during the day, Malfoy just stared back blankly, or averted his eyes— and that was on the rare occasion Malfoy even looked at him. Of course, it didn’t take Ron and Hermione long to notice that Harry’s world was once again becoming Malfoy-centric.

“Mate, seriously, you’ve really got to stop staring. You’re making me feel sorry for the ugly ferret and I really don’t like feeling sorry for him. It’s unnatural.” Said Ron, shuddering.

“I’m not staring.” At the look both Hermione and Ron levelled at him, Harry sighed and begrudgingly gave in. “Fine, I’m staring, but only because he’s ignoring me.” He still hadn’t told them about his new nightly routine. If they knew he was now setting himself an alarm to wake up just in case the nightmares didn’t do the job, so he could say ‘goodnight’ to Malfoy in the common room, they would probably send him to St Mungo's to get his head checked.

“Maybe it’s because you won’t stop bloody staring. You’re creeping him out.”

“Ron has a point, Harry. If you want Draco to start warming up to you, you should try talking to him rather than glaring at him suspiciously the whole time.”

“I’m not glaring,” Harry mumbled into his chest, pouting. “And I did try talking. Stupid git pretty much told me to fuck off.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged A Look that Harry pretended he didn’t see. He didn’t want their pity or their understanding; he had been perfectly happy torturing himself over Malfoy in his own head.

“Hang on a minute,” Ron said suddenly, peering at Hermione. “Is everyone calling him Draco now?”

Hermione sighed and threw Ron an exasperated look. “We have Arithmancy together, and he’s actually very smart, so we work together in class sometimes. It’s really quite sweet how excited he gets when we’re working out the more complicated problems.” She smiled, and Harry’s stomach clenched as an odd combination of jealousy and happiness washed over him. He was pleased to hear Malfoy wasn’t shutting himself off from everyone, but why wouldn’t he at least acknowledge Harry’s existence when they passed in the corridor? 

“Bloody hell. I can’t believe my own girlfriend is president of the Malfoy fan club.”

“Oh grow up, Ron. Anyway, everyone knows Neville is president.” She smirked.

They all burst out laughing and Harry was grateful for the distraction. He looked up and suddenly his attention was caught by Malfoy himself walking through the common room to the dorms. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds. It was nothing at all like their night time staring, but the fact that it happened during the day caused Harry’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Remember, just talk to him, Harry,” Hermione said, drawing his attention back to them. “Like a normal person,” she added after a speculative glance at him. Merlin, he hoped they couldn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. What was that about? How could one tiny glance affect him like that? Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked between him and the doorway Malfoy had disappeared though. 

“Sure thing, ‘mione.” He replied absently, still puzzling through the confusion of emotions that were warring for dominance.

———

Hermione’s words circled his head that night as he crept along the short corridor from his room to the common room; _”Just talk to him.”_. Like it was that simple. What did _she_ know. Malfoy was sat where he always was when Harry entered, his eyes tracking Harry from the moment he appeared. Harry performed what had become their little routine (nod, smile, ‘goodnight’) but rather than head on out of the common room, he approached the window. He watched as Malfoy’s body tensed up and saw the boy’s eyes widen in shock, or fear, he wasn’t sure. It was like approaching a skittish wild animal; Malfoy looked to be moments from bolting out of the room. Harry’s heart was in his throat and he tried to appear as non-threatening as possible. Did Malfoy think he’d try to hurt him? The thought sickened Harry and strengthened his resolve to get past whatever walls Malfoy was trying to keep between them. 

Harry dropped his gaze and settled himself against the window frame, mirroring Malfoy’s position. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as comfortable as Malfoy made it look, so after fidgeting for five minutes, he spent a bit of time building a little nest from the cushions scattered on the floor. He glanced back at Malfoy when he had finally stilled and could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth twitch, even though Malfoy was no longer looking at him. 

“Hi,” Harry said, after spending a considerable amount of time trying to work out the best opener. 

Malfoy glanced at him, frowned, and returned to staring out of the window.

“Can’t sleep?” He cringed. Yet another scintillating conversation starter from the mind of Harry Potter!

Malfoy snapped his head back around, and glared at Harry, his mouth curled up in a sneer. “What do you think, Potter?” He spat. 

Harry grinned and shook his head. It was so good to see Malfoy with some of his bite back, he didn’t even care that it was directed at him. A thrill ran down his spine knowing he was still able to elicit some kind of reaction. Malfoy’s irritation quickly turned to confusion as he witnessed Harry’s glee, but he made no further comment, just turned back to the window.

Harry decided not to push any further, and instead followed Malfoy’s example and stared out of the window. There was something very soothing about watching the moonlight dance across the lake and it wasn’t long before his eyes grew heavy. 

For the second time in less than a month, Harry woke up, alone, to the watery dawn light prodding at his eyelids, and a dark green blanket lightly tucked around him. 

——

This new pattern continued for the next few nights. Harry would wake up at stupid o’clock, creep down to the common room, and settle into his cushion-nest (which was fast becoming his favourite place to sit) opposite Malfoy. He would then make a poor attempt at conversation, Malfoy would snap some snide remark about his (lack of) intelligence or toss a Gryffindor-themed insult at him, then Harry would fall asleep. And then, during the day, they would each pretend like nothing had happened. However, despite the nightly insults, and the continued coldness during daylight hours, Harry noticed that Malfoy no longer tensed up as he approached, and he had caught the tiniest flicker of a smirk on Malfoy’s face on more than one occasion, so it felt like their relationship was improving slowly.

Harry had still mentioned nothing of his late night meet-ups with Malfoy to anyone, not even Ron and Hermione. He kind of liked the fact that they were secret; it felt like it was their ‘thing’— if heavy silences and awkward, one-sided attempts at conversation could ever be called a ‘thing’ —and he wanted to keep it private. Malfoy was steadily becoming more involved with the other 8th years, even though he kept Harry at a distance, so whatever they were doing, whatever this ‘thing’ was between them, Harry thought that it must be helping Malfoy on some level. He still didn’t join in with the pub nights, or the friendly weekend Quidditch matches, but he no longer avoided the common room during the day as if it were plagued, and he participated in several study groups (though never when Harry was there, which irked him more than he liked to admit). 

——

It was late October and there was a sharp chill in the air, the first sign that winter was definitely on its way. Saturday mornings had fast become synonymous with Quidditch for the majority of 8th years, and a handful of 7th years too. No matter the weather, they would all stream down to the pitch straight after breakfast and all school worries and exam stress would be forgotten for a few short hours. Harry was running late, as usual, and most people were already flying laps to warm up or huddled together on the stands. He sucked in a large lungful of fresh air, happy to finally be outside again after a week spent hiding inside from the rain. He glanced around at his friends, old and new, fondly. Everyone was wrapped up warm against the sudden chill, chatting and laughing; clearly as elated as he was to be outside and feeling the frigid breeze tousle hair and redden cheeks and noses.

As Harry approached the pitch, he saw Ginny and Seamus embroiled in a heated discussion while Ron, Dean, and Luna stood to one side, watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match. Harry clenched his fists and took a deep breath, then strode over to find out what they were arguing about. Conflict wasn’t allowed on Quidditch Saturdays; it was their one rule!

“These are my fucking gloves!” Seamus yelled, waving a battered pair of Quidditch gloves in Ginny’s face. 

“No they’re fucking not! That tear there—” Ginny yanked a glove from Seamus’ hand, her reflexes too fast for him to stop her “—see?” She jabbed a finger at a barely-there mark in the leather. “Punched a gnome, summer last year. And this—“ She flipped the glove over, located a vaguely discoloured area on the palm, and waved it in Seamus’ face. “—scorch mark from when George tried to incendio my broom. While I was on it! Should I go on?”

“Bull. Shit.” Seamus yanked the glove out of her grasp. “That mark there, that’s actually from…”

Harry caught Ron’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Ron moved to stand by his side as the argument raged on.

“Not a clue mate. Not a fucking clue.” He replied quietly, shaking his head. “We need to find another pair of gloves from somewhere or these two will tear each other apart.”

“What’s wrong with the spares in the shed?” Harry asked, glancing back at Ginny and Seamus who looked moments from starting a slap fight with the gloves.

Ron groaned. “Ginny said she’d rather feed her hands to an Acromantula than put on school spares. Seamus just spent five minutes pretending to puke.”

Harry laughed, able to imagine very clearly Ginny’s outrage at being asked to wear communal gloves. She wasn’t usually so picky, but when it came to Quidditch, she wouldn’t settle for anything but the highest quality gear she could get, and school gloves that had been worn and abused by countless pairs of hands would not cut it. He strode up to Ginny and smacked her shoulder with his own gloves to get her attention. 

“Here, take these.” He said gruffly, thrusting his gloves towards her.

“Harry! What…? No! I don’t need your gloves. Give them to Seamus— he’s the one without his own pair.” She scowled at Seamus, who looked about ready to put her in a headlock.

“Just shut up and take them, Gin. They’re better than those ones anyway.” He said, gesturing to the glove she held in her hand. “I’ve got spares in my trunk. I’ll just go back and grab them.”

Harry didn’t wait around to hear any more. He made his excuses to Ron then headed back up to the castle. As he left the pitch though, he could hear a new argument ramping up.

“Here, take the bloody gloves, I’ll have Harry’s”

“Bugger off, he gave them to me!”

He felt a bit sorry leaving Ron and the others to sort out their squabbling, but mostly he just hoped they would be done before he got back. He missed a lot of things about Ginny following their decision to break up over the summer, but her argumentative nature was not one them. He supposed it had to do with being the youngest in a large family, and always having to fight for attention, but it was tiring having to deal with it constantly. Luckily, the break-up had been a mutual decision or he may not have gotten out alive; she was dangerous when she was pissed off.

——

The common room was still and quiet when he passed through, but all the abandoned mugs, magazines, games, and various items of clothing were evidence that the room wasn’t always so calm. Considering the room got cleaned every night by the house elves, it was pretty impressive that they’d collectively managed to make such a mess before 10 am. He briefly wondered where Malfoy was; he’d always assumed he spent Saturday mornings in the common room reading or doing homework since he’d never once joined them on the pitch, despite Blaise and Pansy’s many attempts to drag him down there. He noticed that the door to his and Neville’s room was shut though, so perhaps he was still sleeping.

Harry threw open his trunk and started digging around to locate his spare gloves. He knew he had a pair in there somewhere because he’d only bought the others a couple of weeks earlier, but somehow they’d already got hidden. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have suspected Hermione of putting an extension charm on the inside of his trunk because of the number of times he lost things inside it. As he curled his fingers around the old school robe that was crumpled at the base of the trunk, they grazed across something smooth and hard, almost like a wand, but that was ridiculous because his wand was in his pocket where it always was and he only had the one…

Oh shit. 

He yanked the robe out of the way.

Balls.

Sat innocently at the very bottom of his trunk, partially hidden by the layer of crap he never bothered unpacking, was a wand. Tentatively, he picked it up and turned round in his hands. It was only marginally smaller than his own, but it felt completely foreign in his hands. He stared at it for a long time, reliving the last time he’d wielded it. He’d never meant to keep it. He’d had every intention of returning it straight after the trials, but somehow, in all the activity over the summer, it had been forgotten. No wonder Malfoy still hated him and treated him with suspicion. He must think Harry was purposefully keeping his wand from him! 

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” He muttered to himself.

He pocketed the wand alongside his own. He decided he would return it to Malfoy immediately, even if it meant he had to scour the whole school from top to bottom to find him. If only he wasn’t such an antisocial prat, he’d be at the Quidditch pitch with everyone else…Harry slapped a hand to his face, then slid it up to grip a handful of his hair. Shit. Quidditch! He couldn’t let down everyone who was expecting him to play, but he could practically feel Malfoy’s wand quivering with eagerness to be reunited with its old master.

Harry grabbed his map and dashed out of his room. He’d go play Quidditch, then track down Malfoy; he’d been without the wand this long already, a couple more hours wouldn’t hurt. Several minutes later he crashed back into his room and spent a further five minutes searching for the gloves he’d come for in the first place before spotting them on the floor under his bed. 

———

Harry didn’t bother to shower after the match. They had played until hunger forced them back down to earth but the guilt he felt at keeping Malfoy’s wand from him was curdling in his stomach so wasn’t hungry. He gave his armpits a quick sniff (his eyes didn’t water so they couldn’t be that bad), then threw on his shirt and hoodie. He’d showered yesterday, hadn’t he? Or possibly the day before that…? Anyway, what did it matter if he stunk up the place? All he was doing was returning a wand; he could shower afterwards.

The locker room was warm and muggy despite the cold weather outside and the air was thick with the smell of body odour, feet, and too much cologne that was characteristic of teenage boys. Harry perched on a bench in the corner and, with a quick glance to check he was truly alone, dug the map out from his pocket to search for the little ‘Draco Malfoy’ label. He checked the 8th year common room, then the library, then the Great Hall, but there was no sign of him, so he started moving along the corridors, starting on the ground floor, and methodically checked each class room, cupboard, and alcove. It occurred to him about halfway through his search that Malfoy could have gone to Hogsmeade since there was no restriction on 8th years visiting on the weekends, but if that was the case, he was fully prepared to head down there and check each shop, bar, and cafe until he found him.

He had just about given up when he finally spotted him; a little pair of footprints alone by the lake, in an area where the trees grew right down to the shore. What was he doing there? He felt a pang of … something (he wasn’t sure what, but it left a sour taste in his mouth) at the thought of Malfoy all alone and hiding away from everyone. Was that where he went instead of hanging out with friends? Did he even have any proper friends anymore?

Harry was so focused on Malfoy’s label on the map, he didn’t hear the showers turning off, or notice the chatter of his friends getting louder as they entered the locker room en masse.

“What’s that?” Blaise asked as he wandered over to where Harry was sat. Harry snapped his head up and froze midway through folding up the map. Blaise was stood directly in front of him, a towel slung dangerously low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his chest. Harry’s mouth flapped uselessly as his brain scrambled to find the words he needed to divert Blaise’s attention from the map. Blaise smirked, clearly enjoying how flustered he was able to make Harry.

“Harry?” At the sound of Neville’s voice, Harry was finally able to tear his eyes from Blaise, although he instantly regretted it. Neville was wearing an obscenely snug pair of boxer briefs and absolutely fuck all else. They left literally nothing to the imagination, and Harry would know since he was sitting down with his face at crotch height. Jesus fucking Christ. How had it taken him so long to realise he liked boys, Harry thought, mildly bemused by his own obliviousness. With a great deal of effort, he tilted his head up and forced himself to address Neville’s face rather than his exceptionally well-formed package or his surprisingly muscular chest (seriously, when had Neville become hot?).

Harry glanced between the two boys. Before they could say anything further though he leapt up and jammed the part-folded map into his bag. He wasn’t about to explain what he was doing and his brain wasn’t functioning with enough capacity to think of any convincing lies so he took the only option left: Fleeing the scene. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat but I really have to be, um, not here.” He said as he backed away. He threw a few goodbyes over his shoulder and dashed out into the chilly October afternoon.

——

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he spotted Malfoy sitting just where the map had said he’d be, sat on the ground, a short way up the bank. His knees were hugged to his chest, with his chin resting on top while he gazed out across the lake. It had taken Harry over fifteen minutes to get here from the locker rooms and he’d half expected Malfoy to have moved on. He approached cautiously, not wanting to startle the other boy, and paused beside a gnarled old tree to catch his breath. He looked so serene, Harry almost didn’t want to disturb him.

“You know, if you’re trying to sneak up on someone, you really should try to not blunder through the undergrowth like a blind, crippled, erumpent.” Malfoy drawled, without turning round.

Harry blinked. How did he know he was here?

“Also, if that’s how you breathe normally, I suggest going to Madame Pomfrey, unless you enjoy sounding like a lecherous old man perving on school girls.”

Harry frowned and tried to calm his breathing down. The march over from the Quidditch pitch had taken more out of him than he’d thought and he was still trying to catch his breath. It also didn’t help that he was exceptionally nervous about presenting Malfoy with his wand. Sweat trickled down his back and moistened the shirt beneath his hoodie. All of a sudden, skipping the shower seemed like a bad idea. Not only did he sound like a dirty old pervert hiding in bushes, he probably smelled like one too. 

Hesitantly he moved closer, not sure why he hadn’t just announced his presence already.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. If you’re going to hex me, bloody well get on with it, or just bugger off.” Malfoy shouted. His gaze was still firmly on the lake, but he had squared his shoulders and lifted his chin up.

“What..?” Harry was dumbfounded. Why was Malfoy expecting him to attack? Did he think he’d been biding his time, plotting revenge, or some nonsense like that?

At the sound of Harry’s voice, however, Malfoy whipped his head round. A host of conflicting emotions raced across his face, from surprise to relief to annoyance, but these were quickly replaced by the neutral glare he seemed to favour this year. “Oh, it’s you.” He muttered unnecessarily, before turning back to look at the lake. 

Harry sat down in the leaves beside Malfoy, leaving a respectable gap so as not to offend him with his locker room stink, and observed him out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy’s hand was wrapped tightly around his replacement wand, his knuckles white and his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. He looked terrified. Harry abandoned his previous plan to just thrust the wand in his face and leave. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to make him feel safe and happy again. The thought of Malfoy hiding out here to avoid being hexed filled him with a white hot rage he found hard to swallow down. He couldn’t leave him here alone. Not now he knew the other boy expected to be attacked and would just sit there and take it.

“Why did you think I was going to hex you?” He asked quietly.

Malfoy didn’t answer immediately. Harry was about to try a different question when Malfoy dropped his gaze to his hands and exhaled. The tension left him with the breath and he sagged down, defeated. “I didn’t know it was you.” He said quietly, not looking away from the wand he was fiddling with.

“Are people attacking you? At school? Does McGonagall know?”

“Put away your Saviour hat, Potter. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Some people still need a monster to fight and I’d rather it was me than one of the younger Slytherins.”

“But…but…It’s not right! You have to tell someone, Malfoy!”

“No! Now please drop it,” he snapped.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry quietly fuming, while Malfoy returned to staring across the lake, frowning faintly.

“Was there a purpose to your visit or are you just here to annoy me?” Malfoy asked after a while, his eyes flicking to Harry briefly.

“Oh, yeah, actually, um…” Harry shifted slightly and reached into his pocket. Malfoy had turned his head to see what Harry was up to and his eyes widened when he realised what Harry had in his hand.

“Is…is that…?” He looked up and met Harry’s eyes, one trembling hand held out as if he wanted to grasp the wand but didn’t believe it was actually there.

“I’m sorry I've taken so long to return it,” Harry mumbled, smiling apologetically.

“You’re returning it? To me?” Harry had never seen Malfoy looking so fragile yet hopeful. His eyes were bright with tears.

“Of course. It’s yours. I never intended to keep it. I just…well, I guess I kind of forgot about it.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. Malfoy’s expression darkened briefly, but then he looked back at the wand. His wand. And he smiled as he turned it over reverently in his hands. He cast a couple of spells to test it, and observing Malfoy’s joy at how they turned out, Harry knew he would never regret returning the wand in person.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to get reacquainted,” Harry said, pushing himself up from the ground. 

He hadn’t gone more than a few paces before Malfoy called out.

“Potter, wait.” Harry turned to see Malfoy looking up at him earnestly from his position on the ground, his body twisted slightly to face Harry. “Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me to have this back. You’ve already done so much for me, and Mother, and I know I don’t deserve it, but truly, thank you.” He lowered his gaze then turned back to face the lake, worrying the sleeve of his wand arm with his free hand.

Harry took a few steps back towards Malfoy. “It’s fine, really. I’m just sorry it took me so long. And you do deserve it, Malfoy. Don’t ever doubt that.” He tentatively reached out and placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. He felt Malfoy tense under his palm, but he made no move to shrug him off, so Harry gave a gentle squeeze before letting his hand slip off. He stood quietly beside Malfoy for a few moments. He didn’t really want to leave him alone, but despite having exchanged more words in the last five minutes than they’d done all year, Malfoy wasn’t exactly welcoming. In the end though, his saviour-complex won out and he flopped onto the ground beside Malfoy, marginally closer than he’d been before. If he didn’t like it, he could tell Harry to fuck off.

Malfoy flinched when Harry sat, but kept quiet so Harry took that to mean that his presence was welcome. He fiddled with a hole in the sleeve of his hoodie, poking his finger through and tugging at the frayed edges. He could feel the cold dampness of the ground seeping in through the seat of his trousers and shivered. Malfoy had been outside for ages, how was he not shivering?

As if reading his mind, Malfoy spoke. “Have you never heard of warming charms? Honestly, the most-celebrated wizard in the wizarding world and you can barely look after yourself.” He said with a sneer, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye.

Harry grinned and shook his head. “Shove off, Malfoy.” He replied, nudging the other boy with his shoulder. Malfoy glared at him, his posture stiffening for a fraction of a second before he took in Harry’s expression and realised there was no malice intended. He turned back to face the lake, but not fast enough that Harry didn’t see the small smile that graced his lips. He focused back on fiddling with the hole in his hoodie, feeling comfortable with the silence. It was just like their nightly meetings and he didn’t want to ruin this odd daytime truce by saying anything weird. Harry fished his wand out to cast the warming charm, but then realised he wasn’t actually cold anymore. He looked at Malfoy, his brows knotted in confusion only to find the other boy already watching him, an amused smirk plastered across his face. 

“Thanks,” he said, realising that Malfoy had extended his own charm to encompass him.

“You’re welcome,” replied Malfoy, dipping his head.

It had been a long day, what with all the Quidditch and stressing about Malfoy’s wand. Harry could feel his eyes growing heavy as he was lulled by the soft lapping of water on the shore and the sounds of the forest all around them. Malfoy’s warming charm felt like being wrapped in a cosy blanket so he stretched, yawning widely, and lay back on the ground. 

“Not going to fall asleep again, are you?” Draco’s voice cut through the fog of his sleepy thoughts. He opened his eyes— when had they closed? —and glanced up to see Malfoy looking down at him. Harry chuckled; it was the first time either one of them had ever referenced their night time meetings during daylight hours and it was like having a private joke. It felt ridiculously intimate for what it was. At the sound of Harry’s laugh, Malfoy smiled— a proper, happy smile! —and didn’t even try to disguise it or turn away. Harry’s insides squirmed pleasantly as he gazed fondly up at his former nemesis. He wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but he vowed he would do everything he could to make Malfoy smile like that again and again.

——

It was dark before they eventually gave up their spot by the lake and walked back to the castle. Harry could quite easily have spent many more hours alone with Malfoy, but his growling stomach demanded attention and refused to let him forget he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The time had just flown by, but it wasn’t like they’d even done much of anything. After Malfoy had teased him for falling asleep, conversation started to flow more easily, like that little in-joke had broken down a barrier between them. It had been awkward and stilted initially, each of them wary of how far the other could be pushed, but that quickly fell away. Harry was surprised by how animated Malfoy became when he spoke about something he was passionate about; it was enthralling to watch, and he remembered what Hermione had said about him getting excited over Arithmancy problems. Malfoy seemed equally happy to listen to Harry tell his own stories. They had quite obviously steered clear of certain topics, and there were a few tense moments when a story veered too close to a sensitive subject, but it was never enough to derail the conversation completely.

Once in the castle, they had headed straight for the kitchens since they had missed dinner, and were on their way back to the common room with stomachs full of cold-cuts, cakes, and hot chocolate when Malfoy, who’d been dragging his feet since they left the lake, suddenly stopped and indicated for Harry to step into an adjacent alcove just before the cat tapestry.

When Malfoy shuffled his feet on the flagstones and looked everywhere except at him, Harry started to get concerned. “Malfoy? What’s wrong?” He asked, after a few moments of tense, awkward silence.

Malfoy looked like he was about to admit to having killed a much-loved family pet. He sighed. “I, ah, I don’t think we should enter the common room together. I…” His eyebrows drew together as he searched for the right words. He looked pained, and Harry felt a little bubble of worry grow in his gut. “…I don’t want people to know we hung out today.”

Harry frowned, the initial concern quickly mutating into anger as Malfoy’s word sunk in. “You don’t want people to know we hung out?” He asked incredulously. “Why the fuck not? Are you ashamed? Worried your little Death Eater pals might think you’ve gone soft?” He hissed. Harry wasn’t sure where all the rage was coming from, but he was having a hard time controlling it.

“That’s not it at all!” Malfoy spat back. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, visibly calming himself down. “I’m not ashamed.” He said quietly, speaking to the floor. “It’s just, my parents. They can't find out. It would…I don’t know, I just know they wouldn’t take it well. If word got back to them…”

Harry grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He wanted to punch something, to yell, but as stupid as Malfoy’s reasons were, he did sort of understand. He’d always seemed close to his parents, even if they were evil gits. “Fine. Have it your way.” He ground out once he trusted himself not to shout, then he pushed past Malfoy and left the alcove before he said or did something he regretted. The boy was infuriating, and it shouldn’t matter so much that Malfoy wanted to keep their friendship a secret, but it did. It hurt. 

Harry stormed through the common room without checking to see who was still up and marched straight to his room, slamming the door shut behind himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise provides some surprising support. Harry realises his feelings for Malfoy are more complicated than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, chapter 4! Still on schedule! Thanks for the kudos and comments so far :) Plot should be picking up soon... I hope.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr (coriesocks) if you like my work and want to say hi/scream about HP (or Dragon Age, haikyu!!, YOI, or SnK!)

Harry threw open the door to his room so hard that it rebounded off the wall and almost hit him in the face. He growled and stormed over to his bed, giving the door a sharp kick on the way through, then threw himself onto his bed and screamed into his pillow. Why did Malfoy have to go and ruin a perfectly good day by being such a dick? 

“Everything okay?” 

Harry snapped his head up and saw Blaise and Neville sat at opposite ends of Blaise’s bed; books, parchment, and quills spread out between them. Both boys were staring at him and he felt his face grow hot under their scrutiny. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.” He mumbled, turning his face into his pillow again to avoid their eyes.

“Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?” Neville asked hesitantly. 

Harry wanted to reply with a question or two of his own (What the fuck are you doing in here, alone, with Blaise? Since when did you two get so close?), but he bit his tongue. He didn’t need to take his Malfoy-related anger out on innocent bystanders.

“It’s nothing, just pissed off. Don’t want to talk about it.” He said, his voice muffled by the pillow. He heard Blaise whisper something but couldn’t make out the words. A few moments later, he heard the door open and Neville bade them both good night. Harry rolled over and glared at the drapes before turning to look at Blaise when he felt the other boy’s eyes boring into him.

“Sorry for interrupting your study date,” he said softly, suddenly aware that he’d interrupted _something_ , not that he wanted to think too hard about what that _something_ was.

Blaise shrugged. “No big deal. It’s your room too. However, if you barge in after I’ve hung a sock on the doorknob, be prepared to come face to face with my sexy naked arse.”

“Noted.” Harry smiled. It didn’t sound like such a bad thing. 

“Do you really not want to talk about whatever’s going on with you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you disappearing all day after Quidditch. Secret rendezvous? Lover’s tiff?”

Harry rolled onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Pfff. No. I would actually need a lover before I could have any sort of tiff. I, um, just kinda hung out by myself all day.”

“Fun.” Blaise rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Wait, aren’t you with the Weasley girl?”

“What? Whatever gave you that idea? We broke up ages ago.” Harry said, frowning at his roommate.

“But you still act so close and coupley. She does she know you broke up, right?”

Harry levelled a glare at him. “Obviously.” He said flatly and rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a bad break up. We just, ah, wanted different things. We’re much better as friends.”

“ _Different things_ …” Blaise repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean you both wanted the _same thing_?”

“Er, what?” Harry could feel the tell tale heat of a blush creeping across his face. What was Blaise getting at? What did he know?

“Cock.” Blaise grabbed his crotch as if the word itself needed any clarification, and Harry found his eyes drawn down against his will. He snapped his head back up, his face glowing and his eyes wide.

“What? Why would you say that?” His attempt at nonchalance fell woefully short; his voice catching and tripping over the words. _Shit shit shit._

“The fact that you can’t keep your eyes off me and turn bright red whenever I take my shirt off was the first clue,” Blaise replied smugly.

“Oh god.” Harry rolled onto his side and doubled over, burying his face in his hands.

“Hey, it’s no problem. I know I’m hot; I don’t blame you for staring. In fact, I’d be offended if you didn’t. My beauty is a point of pride.” He said, striking a pose reminiscent of a Greek god.

Harry slowly removed the hands from his face and sat up. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, and it was strangely refreshing knowing that he wouldn’t have to hide parts of himself from one person at least, but being called out for basically perving on his roommate was a whole new level of embarrassment. “Please, don’t tell anyone. I, ah, I haven’t said anything to my friends yet about my, um, preferences. It’s still new, you know? I’m just working things out, getting things straight in my head before I say anything.” He pleaded.

“Straight. Ha! Don’t worry your little gay heart. Your secret is safe with me.” He smirked and sauntered into the bathroom. “You shouldn’t worry about it though. Never feel like you have to hide who you are, not around me anyway.”

“Thanks, Blaise.” Harry was equal parts mortified and grateful. He flopped back on his bed and thought about what Blaise had said. Gay. He’d never even labelled himself as such in his own head, let alone spoken it aloud. It sounded...good...though, like it fit, and not nearly as scary as he’d thought it would. Maybe he should just suck it up and come out, at least to Ron and Hermione; that way he wouldn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he was fast realising he wasn’t. What’s the worst that could happen? They freak out and ditch him…? No, he was fairly certain they would never abandon him. It might change things between them though, and that’s what scared him. 

He was asleep before Blaise finished in the bathroom, thoughts of chatting about hot boys with Ginny and Hermione not enough to fight the bone-deep exhaustion.

————

Harry awoke with a start, gasping for air. The room was dark. His body felt hot and tight, and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and reached down to adjust his boxers, which were bunched up and starting to castrate him. The first thing he noticed was that he was still fully clothed, the second thing he noticed was his rock hard erection, which was pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. He groaned as he adjusted himself, the slight friction causing him to see stars. He bit back another moan, very conscious of Blaise snoring in the bed beside his, and palmed his cock, unable to stop thrusting up into his hand. He was so used to being forced awake by nightmares, it had taken him a few moments to realise that it wasn’t fear coursing through his veins, but arousal. There was absolutely no mistaking it now though; not with his cock hard and heavy between his legs, and the only thing he could focus on. Images of the dream he’d woken up from flooded his brain as he continued to palm himself through his clothes; pale skin and white-blond hair; a hot tongue exploring olive skin; slender hands combing through messy black hair; hard, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, seeking more friction, more closeness, more pressure, more; a silky voice more used to insults whispering sweetly against his ear…

Harry pushed his trousers and boxers down and groaned as his erection met the cold air. His bed drapes were open, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to shut them, despite Blaise laying only metres from him; the other boy would probably enjoy the free show if he woke up. He licked his palm and took himself in hand. It wasn’t the hand he craved, but he knew what he liked and he knew it wouldn’t take long; he was practically there already. He shoved his free hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds and bit down hard. One pump, two, three. He stifled a moan as the pleasure grew like a ball of heat in his gut. He thrust desperately into his fist, chasing his orgasm, wanting to crest the wave, but at the same time eager to prolong the build-up. He replayed the images from his dream in his head; imagined the hand on his cock had strong, slender fingers; imagined he could feel a hot, wet, tongue laving each nipple in turn; imagined running his fingers through soft, fine hair before forcing the mouth up to meet his own. He groaned lowly, as his orgasm hit. Cum splattering over his t-shirt and hoodie. His thrusts became erratic as he milked himself dry and then slowed to a stop. He lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the canopy as he waited for his breathing and heart rate to return to normal. 

Shit. 

That was…intense. 

Harry cautiously began to pick through the images now that he was in a position to be more objective. It had certainly been different from previous sex dreams he’d had (not that there was a large selection for comparison— his brain often preferred to supply him with reruns of some of the more horrific parts of his recent past). Usually, it was just faceless male bodies, sometimes Blaise made a brief appearance, and the cute boy at the muggle cafe he’d frequented over the Summer had had a starring role on a few occasions, but this time it felt different. It had been so intense; his brain so very definitely fixated on one person. And as much as he was afraid to admit it, there was no mistaking that blond hair…

Shit.

He’d just had a sex dream about Malfoy. He’d just wanked off to Malfoy. He’d wanked off to Malfoy and had one of the most extraordinary orgasms in recent memory. He fancied Malfoy and wanted to do dirty, dirty things to him. With him. All over him.

Fuck. 

Malfoy was probably sat in the common room right now wondering where the fuck Harry was, while Harry was busy getting off to the thought of his perfectly pointy face. He groaned and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow, then groaned again as he realised he’d smeared cum all over his blankets. This was not good. He liked Malfoy but Malfoy only barely tolerated him. 

Bloody, buggering, balls.

Why did he have to crush on Malfoy, of all people? Why couldn’t his brain tease him with sex dreams about someone, _anyone_ , else? His recent preoccupation with the Slytherin suddenly made a whole lot more sense. Had he always had a crush on him? Was that why the boy had never been far from his thoughts since they first met? 

Bollocks.

Blaise snorted loudly and murmured something unintelligible, spurring Harry into action. First, he needed to get cleaned up, then he would go to the common room to see if Malfoy was still awake. He checked the time. It was later than they usually met but they hadn’t left things on very good terms and he now had a burning desire to clear the air. If Malfoy needed their burgeoning friendship to be kept secret, then they’d keep it secret. Harry vowed to himself that he would do what it took to be friends because now he knew he wanted nothing more than to make Malfoy happy.

———

Harry peered into the common room. He’d hastily changed into his pyjamas and cast a scourgify on his cum-stained blanket and clothes, but they would need a proper wash. He hadn’t really expected to see Malfoy since it was so much later than usual but there he was, sat hunched up against the window, staring forlornly across the grounds. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Now that he actually took the time to look, he was amazed his brain never made the connection with his dick before now. Malfoy was beautiful; like, really breathtakingly beautiful. The moonlight cast a silver sheen over him, which perfectly complimented his pale features and picked out the silver of his eyes; he looked ethereal. Harry could easily have stared at him all night but at that moment Malfoy looked up, meeting his eyes, relief washing over his face. He stood up and took a hesitant step towards Harry, his fingers worrying the hem of his pyjama top.

“Potter, I didn’t think…I…I wasn’t sure…” He frowned, annoyed at his inability to express himself. Harry stepped forward, closing the gap between them by a few feet.

“I’m sorry about before, about getting pissy with you,” Harry said, saving Malfoy from having to say anything. “If you want to keep meeting at night, in secret, that’s fine. I’m here for you. No one has to know."

Malfoy looked gobsmacked. “Why? Why would you do this for me?”

Harry shrugged and smiled. “We’re friends, right? Friends look out for each other, and provide support and all that shit.”

“Friends? I…” Malfoy glanced down at his hands, his brow furrowed. “Thank you.” He said softly, looking up and meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Great. I have one condition though.” Harry raised a hand with his index finger outstretched for emphasis. Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him, urging him onwards. “You can pretend to hate me all you like when we’re around other people, but I want you to hang out with us more. So that means you need to make more effort to join in with the pub trips, and games nights, and weekend Quidditch matches, and any other group 8th year activities they think up. Do that, and I’ll be here for you every night to sit in silence until I fall asleep, if that’s what you want.”

Malfoy grimaced, and to be fair, Harry didn’t really blame him. The majority of 8th years had taken McGonagall’s words about ‘inter-house unity’ to mean that as a group they had to regularly participate in ‘bonding’ activities ranging from games nights to piss ups to study sessions to hastily organised sports tournaments. It could get a bit full-on at times, although Harry vastly preferred it to how things had been before. 

“I’ll think about it,” Malfoy replied sulkily.

Harry grinned broadly and they both settled down into their usual positions by the window. They didn’t say anything more, but Harry could have sworn he felt Malfoy’s gaze upon him more than once. Every time he looked though, the other boy’s eyes were focused on the view out of the window. The dusting of pink across Malfoy’s cheeks, however, suggested that Harry was correct, and he tried not to get carried away with the idea that perhaps there was the slightest chance that Malfoy liked him back.

———

Harry blinked awake and slowly took in his surroundings. Waking up like this was becoming habitual. He was still in the common room, but it was light, and there were a couple of female voices chattering loudly. He stretched to loosen the crick in his neck— he would definitely need to invest in a decent pillow for when he fell asleep in here, or better yet, try and make it back to his bed before he did. The voices grew louder and he looked up as Pansy and Hermione entered the common room. Harry froze. He really didn’t want to get caught down here in his pyjamas, especially by Hermione. There’s no way she’d believe any lie he tried to make up, and he wasn’t about to admit to having been woken by a raunchy dream about Malfoy… He sunk further down into the cushions and attempted to project a cushion-like air about him.

“I can’t believe she’d do that though. I mean come on, he’s fit!” said Pansy.

“He may be attractive, but his personality is due an upgrade,” Hermione replied. 

Neither of them had noticed him yet. He entertained the thought that they would walk right past him, and he’d be able to sneak back to bed….but of course, that didn't happen.

“Hmmm, well, you can’t… Harry!” Pansy’s eyes zeroed in on his location, huddled amongst the cushions by the window. How had she spotted him? He had practically become one with the cushions! “Fancy seeing you here. Lover’s tiff with Blaiseykins?”

Harry scowled, irritation at being spotted mingling with irritation at that insinuation about him and Blaise “No! I, ah, just fell asleep down here.”

Hermione stepped closer, studying his face closely for Merlin only knew what. “Is everything okay, Harry?” Her voice dripped with concern. “You disappeared for most of yesterday, and then spent the night alone in here, is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, ‘mione. Stop worrying. I couldn’t sleep so I came down here. Didn’t want to disturb Blaise— you know how he gets if his beauty sleep is interrupted.” Had he laid it on too thick? She still looked suspicious. Thankfully, Pansy proved to be his unwitting guardian angel.

“Come on Hermione, leave the raggedy little boy alone. He smells like an old Quidditch sock and it’s ruining my appetite.” Harry was too relieved that she'd diverted Hermione’s attention from him to be offended. And to be fair, she was right, he realised; he hadn’t showered for a couple of days so he was probably a bit ripe.

Hermione pursed her lips, clearly warring with herself. Her sense of smell won in the end. “Coming, Pansy,” she called over her shoulder. “See you later, Harry. I’m here if you need to talk.” She leaned in to hug him. As she pulled away she whispered, “A shower might not be a bad idea, you know,” and smiled faintly. 

He rolled his eyes and waved them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you down there.” One eye-watering sniff of his armpit was all the convincing he needed to dash up to his room to shower before he could talk himself into putting it off any longer.

———

As promised, Harry continued to meet up with Malfoy in the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t every night— thankfully Harry’s brain sometimes gave him a respite from the nightmares that usually caused him to wake —but it was most nights. In these private moments, their relationship (or whatever the hell it was) developed. Harry started opening up to Malfoy, telling him things he told no one else, and after a few nights of listening to Harry’s fears and worries, Malfoy shared his in return. It was quite eye-opening for Harry, hearing about the other side of the war, and as much as he tried to prevent it, he found his feelings for Malfoy growing deeper and stronger, and it became harder to pretend all he had was just a little crush. And that was the one thing he'd never admit during their night time chats; that and the fact that more often than not, he woke up sweating from Malfoy-themed sex dreams rather than nightmares these days, and he wasn't sure which was worse.

Surprisingly, Malfoy kept up his end of the bargain, and he slowly started integrating more with the group. He started off by just spending a bit more time in the common room, and not dashing off immediately after classes finished, but once Pansy and Blaise realised he was becoming less anti-social, they dragged him along to every 8th-year get-together. In fact, it wasn’t long before he was socialising more than Harry— not that that was particularly difficult; Harry often found it emotionally exhausting to spend too much time surrounded by other people —and it warmed Harry’s heart to see him back in his element, with people hanging off of his every word. True to their agreement, they maintained a fairly antagonistic relationship publicly, but there was no longer any venom behind the insults or comments they tossed at each other, and their classmates and teachers soon learned they need not be wary when the pair of them were in the same room.

——

One evening in mid-November, Harry returned to his dorm after another heavy study session in the library to find a package wrapped in brown paper on his bed. He paused and eyed it suspiciously; he’d learned to be cautious with unsolicited gifts, so he cast a couple of charms to detect if any dark magic was present. Nothing was revealed, so he hesitantly picked the package up and turned it over in his hands. It briefly occurred to him that he probably should have gone to McGonagall, before touching anything, but it was too late now. The package was sort of magazine shaped, with a smaller, thicker rectangle in the middle, and his name was written in an elaborate looping script on the top. He scoured the outside of the package, checking for any other clues as to its origin, but other than his name, there was nothing. 

Throwing caution to the wind, he carefully peeled back one end of the wrapping and tipped the contents out onto his bed. Seven magazines and a book slid out. He slowly reached out a trembling hand and picked up the book, entitled ‘A Wizard’s Pleasure’. He gulped dryly and flicked through the pages; his jaw falling open as he processed what he was seeing. Never in his life had he encountered such graphic images and diagrams, and a blush steadily overtook his whole body. He snapped the book shut and found the synopsis on the back cover.

 _Who needs witches? This book is the ultimate guide to keeping the wizard in your life happy. Explore existing kinks and discover many more! A book written for wizards, by wizards._

He dropped the book on the bed like it had bitten him and turned his attention to the magazines. ‘ _INCENDIO!_ ’ the covers proclaimed. It wasn’t a title Harry was familiar with. He glanced over the covers; a barely clothed man posed proudly on each one, preening and flexing for the camera. Harry thought his skin would actually combust he was so hot with embarrassment. He tentatively picked up the magazine that claimed it would _“Make your crush notice you! 10 surefire ways to entice the wizard of your dreams!”_. Harry grimaced slightly, but morbid curiosity urged him on and he started flicking through the glossy pages. Thank Merlin, Godric, Salazar, fuck, thank every single witch and wizard that ever lived that he didn’t take the package to McGonagall, Harry thought as his eyes were assaulted by progressively more…inventive…pictures. Jesus fucking Christ, what was that man doing? Harry squinted and tilted the magazine as if that would cause the image to suddenly make more sense.

“Ahh, a fantastic choice! That Eric Juniper centrefold is to die for.” 

Harry startled and crushed the magazine against his chest as Blaise’s booming voice yanked his attention from the glossy images. Just when he thought he couldn’t be more embarrassed! He stared open-mouthed at Blaise, his face flaming, as the other boy sauntered into the room and began stripping off his uniform in preparation for bed. Harry surreptitiously tried to gather up the magazines and book and push them under a pillow or blanket or anything, so long as they were hidden. 

But then Blaise’s words finally sunk in.

“Wha…eh? Juniper?” Harry glanced down at the magazine currently crushed in his hands.

“You like my gift then? You’d better remember those silencing charms come night time!” Blaise smirked and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait, what? These are from you?” Harry gestured at the pile of partially obscured magazines.

“Of course! Who else would be leaving you gay jazz mags?” Harry’s mouth flapped uselessly; he couldn’t remember how to speak. His roommate thought unsolicited gay porn was a perfectly acceptable gift. Why did this shit happen to him? Maybe Hogwarts would suddenly collapse or he’d fall through a wormhole and the embarrassment would end soon. 

“Think of it as a ‘thank you’,” Blaise continued. “Ever since you returned Draco’s wand, he’s slowly been getting back to being himself, so, thank you for giving me my best friend back.” 

“Oh, um, sure, no problem,” Harry mumbled, still battling his mortification. His brain felt sluggish and was struggling to process what was actually going on. Had he been more with it, he might have challenged Blaise on why on earth he thought gay porn was an appropriate ‘thank you’ gift. What happened to sending flowers? Or chocolates? Or just a fucking note??

Suddenly something occurred to him. “Wait a minute, what are you doing with these? Are you gay?”

Blaise barked a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous! My cock doesn’t discriminate based on what’s between a person’s legs. As long as the packaging is pretty, anything is fair game.” He shot Harry a devilish grin, which when combined with the shock at being gifted with a bunch of gay porn, was enough to make Harry feel weak at the knees. “Look, you said you were still trying to work some stuff out so I thought I’d be a good friend and help you out. You don’t want to be unprepared when you come face to face with your first cock.”

Harry still wasn’t able to speak coherently or look Blaise in the eye. He mumbled his thanks and turned his attention to gathering up his new reading material while hoping his flaming skin wouldn’t set his bedding alight. To his credit, Blaise didn’t make any attempt to prolong Harry’s embarrassment and just chuckled to himself as he sauntered into their bathroom. Harry stuffed the magazines and book at the bottom of his trunk and tugged the drapes shut around his bed. 

Five minutes later, he opened the drapes— he didn’t want Blaise thinking he was masturbating to his ‘gift’. 

After another five minutes, he leapt out of bed, dug around in his trunk, and grabbed one of the magazines. He wedged it in the gap between his mattress and the headboard, and tried very hard to think of absolutely anything else for the next couple of hours until Blaise was fast asleep and snoring gently.

———

It didn’t take Ron and Hermione long to notice the change in Malfoy, though Harry had kept his word and told no one that they hung out in private. He felt guilty keeping secrets from them, but at the same time, it felt good having something that was his alone. It helped him feel like less of a third wheel.

“I think you were right,” Ron said one evening while they were tidying up the room after Harry’s DADA club.

“About what?” 

“Malfoy.”

Harry’s heart sped up and his mouth suddenly felt very dry. “What about Malfoy?” He asked cautiously, hoping Ron wouldn’t notice the way his wand slipped in his sweaty grasp as he directed the mats to the corner of the room.

“You know, that he’s up to something. I mean, it’s weird, right? How he’s suddenly Mr Popular, like everyone conveniently forgot how he tried to get us all killed.”

Harry sighed, exasperated. This was why he could never tell Ron about his secret friendship and his even more secret crush. “He never wanted to kill anyone, Ron. He was put in a bad position and made some bad choices.”

“He’s got to you too! He must have slipped everyone some sort of love potion or spell or, or, _something_ that makes them suddenly think he’s amazing. I actually overheard Parvati and Ginny talking the other day about how sexy they think he is. Malfoy! Sexy! Can you fucking believe it?” Ron cried.

Harry’s heart was racing so hard he was sure it would blast straight out of his chest. Parvati and Ginny thought Malfoy was sexy? His Malfoy? The wave possessive jealousy came out of nowhere and almost floored him. This was very, very, not good. He’d never thought that in helping Malfoy come out of his shell, he’d somehow turn him into some sort of sex god. It was bad enough having a massive crush on the blond prick, without having to watch him whore about with every girl who fluttered her eyelashes at him. Harry groaned. The beef stew he’d eaten earlier sat like a stone in his stomach as his mind helpfully supplied images of Malfoy draped around a series of faceless girls.

“You alright, mate? You look a bit green. It’s the ‘sexy Malfoy’ thing, isn’t it? It turns my stomach too. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘mione to bits, but it’d be nice if other girls thought I was sexy too, you know? But you’ve got to wonder at their taste if they think that pointy-faced ferret is worth a go. And my own sister too! I’m sure she still fancies you too, mate, don’t worry. Not that you’d want her if she’s making eyes at Draco fucking Malfoy—”

“Can you finish up here?” Harry interjected, cutting Ron off mid-rant. “I don’t feel so good. Must be something I ate.” He dashed out of the door without waiting for a reply.

As Harry rushed through the common room, he tried not to make eye contact with anyone, but of course, the one person he wanted to avoid at that moment was the one person he locked eyes with. Malfoy was lounging confidently in an arm chair by the fire, holding court with his increasing group of hangers-on. The smile froze on his face as he took in Harry’s narrowed eyes and flared nostrils before Harry scowled and marched off to his room. How had he not noticed the little fan club Malfoy had amassed? How many of their year had he already slept his way through? Why did he care so much what the fuck Malfoy did with his cock?

Harry didn’t go down to the common room for the next couple of nights, but on the third night, Harry swallowed down his feelings and padded the familiar route down the corridor. He was earlier than usual and Malfoy wasn’t there yet so Harry settled into his usual spot and waited.

Ten minutes later, he heard the telltale sound of a door snicking open and shut, followed by the soft scrape of slippers on carpet as someone carefully picked their way down the same corridor he’d emerged from himself not long before. He turned and green eyes immediately met grey across the darkened room.

“Potter!” Malfoy sounded so relieved to see him, Harry felt the beginnings of guilt gnawing at his insides. He’d acted like such a pissy little shit all because the object of his affection, who clearly wasn’t even slightly gay, didn’t return his feelings.

“Hey.” He said quietly. He waited for Malfoy to take his seat before speaking again. “Um, I’m sorry about the other day, I got some unexpected news—” not quite a lie, Harry congratulated himself “—and it put me in a bad mood. And I’m sorry for not being here the last couple of nights.”

Malfoy smiled and the knot of guilt in Harry’s stomach twinged. “It’s okay, I don’t expect to see you every night. Do you want to talk about it? The unexpected news, I mean?”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Harry sighed and fiddled with the tie from his dressing gown. Then he found himself speaking to fill the silence anyway. “It’s just, I realised the person I really like isn’t into me, and isn’t likely to be anytime soon either, and it got me down, so, yeah. Feels a bit shit.” Harry chuckled depreciatively and glanced up at Malfoy though his fringe, not quite able to look directly at the other boy. 

“Why do you think she won’t like you? Did she say something?”

Harry took a deep breath before answering. So far only Blaise knew about his sexuality, and he’d sort of just assumed, so if Harry said something now this would technically be his first ‘coming out’. Would Malfoy run a mile if he knew Harry was gay? The jazz mags and the book Blaise had loaned him implied that homosexuality was something to be ashamed of or hidden away in pureblood society, and Malfoy clearly still cared a lot about that crap. He swallowed slowly, his eyes trained on Malfoy, ready to watch closely for any reaction to his words, but at the last moment, he found his determination wavering. “They haven’t said anything, it’s just fairly obvious from how they act. It’s okay, I’ll get over it.” He shrugged, brushing off the heart ache like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He wondered if Malfoy picked up on his pronoun use. His heart thundered in his chest and his skin suddenly felt too tight. It wasn’t strictly a ‘coming-out’ but it was close enough that he thought he might throw up a little from the stress if Malfoy didn’t say or do something in the next few seconds.

Malfoy looked at him, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Well, it’s their loss. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Harry stared at Malfoy and he knew the other boy had picked up on what he’d hinted at. Malfoy had worked out his not so subtle clue and he hadn’t run away in disgust. This was a good day! Harry smiled gratefully, then quickly averted his eyes and pretended to be interested in something out of the window when his smile was returned in equal fervour by Malfoy. If he kept staring into those intense silver-grey eyes, there was no way he’d be able to avoid launching himself at him and doing something ridiculous like dry-humping his leg. 

After several minutes of increasingly awkward silence, Malfoy launched into a story about how he’d once accidentally died his eyebrows and fringe green as a child, and Harry had never been more relieved to hear an anecdote about potions in his life.

———

Christmas was fast approaching, and as the days grew colder, wetter, and shorter, Harry knew he would have to make a decision about what he was doing for the holidays. A large part of him wanted to stay at Hogwarts since it would be his last opportunity to do so, but every 8th year he’d spoken to was going home for the holidays, and he didn’t particularly want to spend Christmas alone. He knew Molly was adamant that he should come home to the Burrow, and he was sorely tempted, but now that he and Ginny weren’t together, he thought it would be awkward, especially with the way everybody was convinced they were just on a break and would sort themselves out eventually. He vaguely considered going to Grimmauld Place, and maybe checking some of the local nightlife, but that would still leave him with the problem of being alone for much of the holidays. But then he found out, quite by chance, that Malfoy intended to stay at Hogwarts, and suddenly there was no question in his mind about what he would do. The problem was, Ron and Hermione, along with everyone else had assumed he would be spending Christmas with them at the Burrow, so he needed to find a way to break the news to them. However, the thought of disappointing so many people he cared about meant that with only one week to go before the break, he’d still not said anything.

“Oh, by the way, Harry, Mum said she’s putting you in with me, and Hermione with Ginny. Apparently, even though I’m a bloody adult, I’m still not old enough to share a room with my girlfriend.” Ron grumbled one afternoon as they were hanging out in the common room. 

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly and placed a soothing hand on her boyfriend’s knee. They were sat curled up together on one of the sofas around the fireplace. Harry was sat on the floor, several sheafs of parchment and a couple of books spread out on the coffee table in front of him as he tried to finish off his Charms essay. Neville, Blaise, Hannah, and Padma were squashed onto the sofa behind him, and Pansy and Malfoy were draped elegantly across an armchair that surely wasn’t large enough for them to look so comfortable.

Harry pretended to be too focused on his work to respond to Ron. This had been his tactic of late to avoid mentioning that he would be staying at school for the holidays.

“You know,” Hermione said slowly, and both Ron and Harry whipped their heads in her direction, knowing full well it was her ‘I have a plan’ voice, “I’m sure Molly isn’t going to be checking on us through the night so if, say, Harry and I were to swap beds occasionally…” 

Ron’s face lit up as it dawned on him what Hermione was suggesting. “Hermione! You’re fucking wonderful!”

“Language, Ron!” She scolded, although the smug look on her face detracted from the reprimand.

“You know what this means, don’t you Harry?” Ron said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning widely.

Harry stared blankly up at them, “Umm, you two get to shag like bunnies?”

“No! Well, yeah! But, what I meant was you and Gin, spending time together, in the dark, eh? Maybe work out some of your differences, horizontally, if you get me?”

Harry pretended not to hear Blaise snorting into his cocoa behind him. “Ron, what part of me and Gin being broken up do you not understand? I don’t like her in that way anymore. No amount of time together in the dark is going to fix that.” He paused and took a deep breath, knowing that he wasn’t going to find a better time to come clean about his plans. “And besides, I’m going to be staying here for Christmas.” He said, the words coming out in a rush. He glanced over to where Malfoy was sat as Ron exploded and Hermione fretted and saw the other boy’s eyes widen in shock. He shot him a quick smile, before turning his attention to defusing the situation he’d created with his best friends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco spend time together over the Christmas holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff! Plot soon, I promise.
> 
> I'm not sure if Hogwarts follows English school holidays, but that's what I've gone with since it's what I know. It didn't occur to me until after this ch was written that perhaps scottish holidays might be different. oh well!

Harry stood at the window and watched as the last of the students trickled out of the school. The common room was completely silent, even more so than it was at night. During term time, there always seemed to be a background hum, as if the walls were faintly echoing the noises created by hundreds of people going about their lives. Now there were only a handful of students and teachers left in the whole castle and Harry could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on him. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant sensation, but it was strange not being surrounded by people. 

Ron and Hermione hadn’t been very keen on leaving him there alone, but they had grudgingly accepted his decision in the end. He’d had to agree to stopping by the Burrow for Christmas dinner, but that was a small price to pay for getting a little over two weeks alone with Malfoy where they didn’t have to worry about someone reporting on them to his parents. And if Malfoy realised, during these two weeks, that Harry’s friendship was more important than his weird pureblood hangups, then it would be even better. He and Malfoy hadn’t spoken much about the holidays beyond offhandedly mentioning that it would be novel hanging out in daylight hours, but Harry could tell the other boy was happy he wouldn't be alone. He wondered whether Malfoy realised how much his presence here affected Harry’s decision to stay. 

A quiet sound caused him to glance at the entrance to the boys’ dorms and he saw the object of his current train of thought standing in the doorway. He was dressed casually (for him) in grey slacks, a pale blue button down, and a navy sweater. Harry opened his mouth to say hi but his tongue suddenly felt like a useless weight in his mouth and refused to cooperate. This crush was seriously getting out of hand, he thought, absently wiping a damp palm on his trousers before swiping the hair off his forehead.

“Hey,” Malfoy said, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Harry replied, the word catching in his throat. Suddenly the thought of two long weeks with nothing but Malfoy and a handful of teachers and lower years for company felt insurmountable. How was he supposed to act like a normal human being if Malfoy was going to strut around the place like some platinum-haired Adonis? 

He cast his eyes about the room, trying to find something to look at other than Malfoy so that he could calm himself down and start functioning normally, but his gaze kept returning to the blond; the way the trousers hugged his perfect arse, the glimpse of collar bone where the shirt hadn't been buttoned all the way up, the platinum hair swept casually off his face. It was no use. He needed distance. Space to put himself back together before interacting with Malfoy on any level.

“I, ah, I should go. There’s this thing, you know? I’ll be back soon. In a bit. Er, I mean, later. Yes. See you.” He tried very hard not to trip over his tattered pair of Converse as he dashed out of the door. Shit. Why was it so hard being alone with Malfoy? It was never like this when they were alone together at night time, but now, knowing that they were completely alone for the first time, he’d not lasted more than a few minutes without having to bail. Malfoy probably thought he hated him. 

He paced along deserted corridors for what felt like hours, willing his body to behave itself and trying to dredge up the positive thinking exercises Hermione had told him about once. However, the longer he was away from the common room, the more he worried about coming up with a good excuse for his sudden departure, which didn’t leave much space in his head for the pep talk he was trying to give himself. He briefly considered going to McGonagall’s office and begging to be allowed to floo to the Burrow, but he didn’t entertain the thought for long— McGonagall would probably want a reason, and he wasn’t about to explain to her, or anyone else for that matter, that his crush on Malfoy suddenly left him unable to function like a normal human.

His stomach rumbled as he approached the kitchens, interrupting his panicked thoughts and reminding him that he hadn’t bothered with breakfast that morning. Food. A bacon sandwich was unlikely to sooth his out-of-control feelings, but it would go a long way to making him feel better. Had Malfoy missed breakfast too?

Half an hour later, Harry stumbled into the common room with his arms laden down with bacon sandwiches, pumpkin pasties, sausage rolls, and juice. A small basket of fruit hung from his teeth. Malfoy looked up from where he was sat reading a magazine and smirked. He pulled his wand from his pocket and levitated the food from Harry’s person onto the small coffee table in front of the fire place.

“Do you ever remember you’re a wizard?” He said, shaking his head and laughing.

Harry smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes. When I think of it.”

They sat down together and started tucking into the feast Harry had charmed out of the house elves. He silently marvelled at the amazing power of the humble bacon sandwich. His heart was still racing, his palms were still sweaty, and he still felt moments from doing or saying something stupid, but at least he was able to sit beside Malfoy and appear like a normally functioning adult. And he would bring Malfoy a constant supply of bacon sandwiches if it continued to make him smile the way he did just now.

——

By the evening, Harry was much calmer around Malfoy (to his immense relief). The awkwardness he’d felt initially had slowly melted away as they'd spent the day together; reading, chatting, playing a few rounds of wizard chess (until Malfoy got sick of winning so easily), and generally just hanging out in the common room, only leaving to get dinner. After Harry bade him good night outside the door to his room, he actually felt a bit bereft without the other boy’s constant company. He fell to sleep that night planning his Christmas shopping and trying to think of a gift for Malfoy that the other boy wouldn’t sneer at and discard. 

The next couple of days and nights passed without incident. Harry and Malfoy spent every hour of every day together, aside from a few of hours the day before Christmas Eve when they parted to do some shopping in Hogsmeade. Malfoy’s fear of his parents finding out about his and Harry’s friendship actually worked out quite well with regards to finding time alone to search for the perfect gift so Harry was grateful for Malfoy’s paranoia for once. 

Being so close to Christmas, Hogsmeade was teeming with shoppers, carolers, and festive pop-up stalls; it was like hell on earth. Harry spent the best part of a day scouring the shops for a present for Malfoy, fighting his way through the crowds. He was bad enough at buying gifts when there weren't swarms of people getting in his way, so he had to really dig deep into his reserves of patience to survive. He eventually managed to find something for everyone else on his list, but Malfoy was once again proving to be the bain of his life, and he wasn’t even there. He was so tempted to abandon the whole idea and just buy a bag of sweets, but he really wanted the gift to mean something. The trouble was, it couldn’t _obviously_ mean something because he didn’t want to freak Malfoy out. It needed to say ‘I care about you as a friend’, but with subtext that said ‘please fuck me, if you’re that way inclined, but I’ll still be your friend if you’re not so don’t worry’. Harry was moments from owling Hermione in desperation when he finally stumbled upon something he knew Malfoy would love, and that demonstrated that he actually did listen and care about what Malfoy said. He headed back to Hogwarts that afternoon feeling much lighter.

Christmas Eve was an odd day. Malfoy was quieter and more withdrawn than he’d been all week, and wouldn’t elaborate upon why no matter how many times Harry had asked. Eventually, he’d snapped, told Harry to fuck off and mind his own business, and they’d both spent most of the afternoon sulking in opposite corners of the common room. Not even a trip to visit Hagrid was enough to pick up Harry’s spirits. On top of the spat with Malfoy, Harry was also weighed down with guilt because for the first time since knowing the Weasleys, he wasn’t excited to be visiting the Burrow. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his friends and family, and of course he was looking forward to Molly’s cooking, but he felt terrible about having to leave Malfoy by himself all day. He was supposed to be flooing there after breakfast on Christmas morning, and as the time of his departure raced ever nearer, the feelings of dread laced with guilt grew.

That night, Harry lay in bed unable to quieten his mind enough for sleep no matter how many mental relaxation exercises he tried. Malfoy’s sour mood had lightened enough for him to begrudgingly utter a ‘good night’ before taking himself off to bed, but it wasn’t enough for Harry. He missed the closeness of the past few days; the little touches here and there, a warm smile, a knowing smirk. Somehow, in the space of just a few days, Malfoy had become one of the most important people in his life and he’d managed to fuck it up by being a nosy git and not having the awareness to quit poking an angry Slytherin. He checked the time; half twelve. Barely five minutes since he last checked. Huffing, he kicked off his blankets and sat up at the edge of his bed. It was pointless trying to sleep; his brain clearly didn’t want him to, so he decided to go sit in his nest of pillows by the window in the common room. Malfoy would probably turn up at some point and be pissed off that Harry was there, but he didn’t care. He was going to force the other boy to be his friend again whether he liked it or not. 

He grabbed a blanket from above his wardrobe and wrapped it around his shoulders before heading out of his room— for some reason the common room felt colder since everyone had gone home. The blanket was a king-sized, quilted, monstrosity made for him by Molly, and it completely drowned his small school bed so he rarely used it, but it was perfect for snuggling under on a sofa or in a cushion-nest. He shuffled into the common room like a human sausage roll and immediately spotted Malfoy in his usual place, even though it was at least an hour before they usually met.

Malfoy glanced up at him and arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realise it was fancy dress tonight.”

Harry laughed, and the small knot of worry that had formed at seeing the other boy eased slightly. “Pfff, mock me all you want. I’ll be toasty warm while you freeze your bollocks off.”

“I hardly think the house-elves would allow the temperature in here to drop to bollock-freezing levels. My nadgers will live to fight another day.”

Harry snorted out another laugh as he flopped down into his nest. He was happy that whatever had been upsetting Malfoy all day seemed to have resolved itself, but a small amount of curiosity lingered in the back of his mind.

“Hey, Malfoy, I’m sorry about earlier. I should never have pushed you to tell me what was wrong,” he said, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. He glanced up at the other boy through his hair, which was now long enough that it hung over his eyes if he didn't push it back.

Malfoy stared back at him coolly for a moment before taking a deep breath and slumping into his seat. “You’re forgiven. For now.”

Harry released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. “Cool. So we’re good?”

“We are," Malfoy said, nodding once, his eyes never leaving Harry's as a smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. Harry grinned as he watched Malfoy try, unsuccessfully, to hide the smile.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Malfoy’s attention was back on the night sky out of the window, but Harry couldn’t look at anything but Malfoy. He hated thinking about the other boy being all alone on Christmas, but what could he do? It wasn't like he could invite Malfoy to the Burrow. While he was staring at Malfoy, he saw him tug the thin blanket more tightly around himself and shiver, and an idea popped into his head.

“Come here.”

“What?”

“You’re cold. This blanket is big enough for both of us. So, come here.” He untangled himself from the blanket, settled it across himself, and waggled the corner enticingly.

Malfoy looked like he was about to protest, but then to Harry’s surprise, he got up and covered the short distance between them before pausing.

“Are you sure?”

Harry smirked. “Scared?” 

“You wish, Potter.” 

Harry’s heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest as Malfoy settled down beside him. He could already feel the warmth of the other boy where their shoulders touched. He tried to slow his breathing to a more normal pace, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was to remember how to breathe normally. Did it always sound this loud when he exhaled? What speed was normal? In. Out. In. Out. 

After a few long minutes, Malfoy’s voice cut through the fog of Harry’s minor panic attack. “Ugh, this thing is so beyond hideous, I can’t actually tell you what offends me most. What’s that supposed to be?” His long fingers trace the outline of one of the panels of the quilt. Harry craned his neck slightly to see what he was talking about.

“Oh, um, it’s supposed to be a gnome, I think," he said, squinting at the picture. It was definitely a gnome, or perhaps a Weasley. "I’ll have you know, Molly Weasley made this for me and I love it," he added indignantly.

“Well, that explains a lot. You never told me that Mrs Weasley is blind.”

“Hey!”

Malfoy continued speaking as if Harry hadn't just interjected. “I mean, why else would you use such a combination of colours? It’s like a unicorn vomited rotten fruit all over a stained glass window.”

“Hey! If you don’t like it, then shove off and go back to your own crappy blanket.” Harry yanked the blanket away and Malfoy squealed in protest. Actually squealed.

“No! I’ll be good! I promise! Please let me share this beautiful mess of a blanket with you.”

“Fine, but if I hear one more shitty comment about my favourite blanket then you’re on your own.” Harry glared at Malfoy and lifted up the edge of the blanket to once again invite him under. The cushions shifted as Malfoy settled back down, forcing the boys to sit closer than either intended. Harry tensed as he felt Malfoy’s body press into his, expecting the other boy to recoil in horror at the forced proximity; they were practically in each other's laps. It wasn’t an unwelcome sensation so he didn’t want to pull away, but at the same time, he didn’t want Malfoy to think he was enjoying it too much in case he freaked out. As the seconds ticked by and Malfoy made no effort to put some distance between them, Harry allowed himself to relax a bit, although he couldn’t relax too much, not while his body was screaming at him to pull Malfoy closer and bury his face in the soft warmth of his neck. For the second time that night, Harry found himself concentrating on his breathing, focusing all his effort on trying to act like snuggling under a blanket in the dark with his crush was No Big Deal. It was hard to think about anything when all he could smell was the delicate fragrance of Malfoy’s shampoo and the musk of his skin.

After a few minutes, Malfoy shifted and Harry tried not to sound too relieved. He wasn’t sure he could trust his body to behave for much longer with Malfoy so close. The relief, however, was short lived. Harry’s heart nearly stopped completely as Malfoy shuffled down slightly and tentatively rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. Was this really happening? Had he fallen asleep without realising? He turned his head minutely to get a better a look at Malfoy and his jaw brushed against the top of his head, the fine, silky strands catching on his stubble. It was so soft, and the smell, oh Merlin. He could drown in that smell; clean, and warm, and citrusy, and so, so Malfoy. He moved his head again, to feel the softness of the other boy’s hair against his face a second time, and then a third time. Malfoy shifted again, nuzzling further into Harry’s neck, so Harry felt emboldened enough to snake his arm around Malfoy’s back and rest it lightly on his hip. A heartbeat later and he felt Malfoy’s arm drift across his chest. 

Harry abandoned all hope of being able to control his breathing and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He could scarcely believe it; they were cuddling! There was no way this was a dream, they’d be naked with cum everywhere by now… No, this was much better than anything his hormonal brain had ever supplied. Who would have thought that a simple cuddle could be so intimate? His eyes drifted closed as he drowned in Malfoy’s scent, the lack of sleep suddenly catching up with him. He could feel the rise and fall of Malfoy’s chest against his own and knew the other boy was being claimed by sleep too so he didn’t try and fight it. It wasn't like anyone other than a house-elf was likely to stumble across them in this position, so there was no fear of word getting back to Malfoy’s parents. 

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Harry mumbled, just on the edge of consciousness. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” Came the reply, a beat later. Harry felt the arm across his chest tighten its embrace and he drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than he’d felt in a long time.

———-

When Harry awoke the next day it took him a few moments to get his bearings. He wasn’t surprised to find himself in the common room since that happened so often these days it was as familiar as waking up in his own bed, but the presence of an arm slung loosely over his waist, and warm pressure of a body pressed up against his back was a new experience. As was the brightness of the sunlight streaming through the window—he normally escaped back to his bed long before the sun was fully up. He cringed as he remembered how he’d basically fallen asleep sniffing Malfoy’s head. How was he going to explain that one in the cold light of day? It had felt so right last night, but what would Malfoy think if he knew Harry had gotten hard from the smell of his shampoo? Harry slowly eased his way out of the other boy’s embrace. Maybe if he snuck back to his room, they could pretend like nothing weird happened and just go on as usual. That was their thing, right? The never spoke of the night times. Never. As Harry got up, his attention caught on the twin stacks of presents sat beside them and he suddenly remembered what day it was. All thoughts of sneaking back to his room vanished in an instant.

“Christmas! Malfoy! Wake up! Presents!” He kicked the other boy in the leg in case his shouting wasn’t enough to wake him and leapt over to tackle his presents. He didn’t care that he was 18 now and probably too old to get excited by this stuff. He would never not love Christmas morning. He felt a small twinge of sadness that Ron and Hermione weren’t around to share in his excitement, but one look at the joy on Malfoy’s sleepy face was enough for him to squash down any lingering sadness. And besides, he’d see his friends a bit later on; they’d agreed to exchange gifts at the Burrow with everyone else—

“Shit!” Harry paused mid-unwrapping, swearing loudly and startling Malfoy who was already busy with his own pile.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Malfoy snapped.

“Sorry! I just remembered I was supposed to leave for the Burrow at nine. Shit. I must be so late. Do you have the time? Balls. Never mind, I’ve got a watch in my room.” Harry shot up, ripped paper tumbling from his lap. 

“You’re a wizard, Potter. Cast a fucking _Tempus_. Merlin’s titty fucking beard, how hard is it to remember?” Malfoy glared with enough force to stop Harry in his tracks and make him feel like a child who’d been caught stealing biscuits.

“I didn’t forget,” He grumbled, “I just didn’t remember. Not everyone uses magic for every little thing, you know.” He sat down sulkily at his now-depleted present pile.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow and glared at him condescendingly. “If you’d rather spend half an hour searching in your rubbish tip of a room for your watch, then be my guest. I was just trying to save you time.”

“Hey! My room’s not that bad, and how would you know anyway?” As far as Harry knew, Malfoy had never once been in his and Blaise's room despite the pair being good friends. It occurred to him at that moment just how odd that was.

“Blaise talks about little else. You do remember him, don’t you? Tall, rather dashing, sleeps a few metres away from you?”

Harry felt a flush spread across his face, reddening his cheeks. It was in part due to the embarrassment of being called out on his less than tidy habits, but mostly it was the thought that Blaise and Malfoy had spent time talking about him. “Oh, right. I —” 

Harry’s excuse was cut off before it could be aired by the sound of someone coming through the tapestry into the common room. Both boys spun round to face the entrance. They’d spent so little time with anyone else the last few days, it was a slightly alarming to be reminded that they weren’t the only two who existed.

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, Merry Christmas. I trust you’ve been behaving yourselves?” Professor McGonagall glanced around the common room, before looking back at the boys.

Harry looked guiltily at the ripped paper that surrounded him, suddenly aware of his slightly messy tendencies thanks to Malfoy, but was relieved to see a similar mess surrounding the other boy. They both answered in the affirmative, which was enough to soften McGonagall’s expression a touch. 

“It’s encouraging to see you both getting on so well. Long may it continue.” She smiled knowingly, though what exactly she thought she knew was beyond Harry. “Anyway, I just came by to remind you, Mr Potter, that your scheduled appointment with my fireplace came and went more than half an hour ago, and I’ve had a rather frantic Molly Weasley demand I release you from Hogwarts post haste.”

Harry felt the flush return to his face. “Sorry, I woke up late, then there were presents, and I kind of forgot the time.”

“No matter, Potter. Finish what you’re doing then come by my office. I’ll be waiting for you.”

With that, Professor McGonagall swept out of the room.

———

Harry raced through opening the rest of his presents, and then dashed to his room to stuff the gifts he’d bought for everyone into a bag. The present he’d bought for Malfoy sat on his bedside table and he stared at it, trying to decide whether or not to give it to him. He’d wrapped it the previous night before he'd tried to sleep; before he'd found Malfoy in the common room and they'd fallen asleep cuddled together under a blanket. Should he attempt to bring up the cuddling thing? It was probably something they needed to talk about if they were going to have a healthy friendship, but he was afraid of the answer he’d receive. A small part of him clung to the hope that Malfoy might actually like him back, and he didn’t want to extinguish that hope by prodding at Malfoy’s reasons for cuddling into him. Was cuddling just something they now did? Was it something he did with all his friends? Was he expecting a hug goodbye? It was so confusing. Sensibly, he knew he should talk to him, establish some boundaries before he let his heart get too carried away, but realistically, he knew he was unlikely to initiate any such conversation. _Hey Malfoy, you may not know this but I’m kind of a bit gay now and I’d very much like to continue cuddling you, before progressing onto kissing, frotting, blowjobs, and pretty much everything in that book Blaise loaned me, so what do you say?_ Yeah. That probably wouldn’t go down well. 

A knock at the door shook Harry from his thoughts and he absently shouted over his shoulder for the person to come in while he wedging the last few presents into his bag. It was probably McGonagall come to hurry him along.

“You were taking so long, I thought you might have got lost.” 

It wasn’t McGonagall. Harry spun around to see Malfoy leaning against the door frame, with his arms folded and hips cocked to the side.

“Ha, yeah, just grabbing a few things I need to take with me,” Harry said, watching as Malfoy scanned the piles of clothes on his floor with a judgmental glare. He felt shame well up inside when he realised that without Blaise’s influence, he’d allowed his half of the room to become worse than usual. 

“I honestly don’t know how Blaise puts up with you. This is horrific. It’s beyond even my extended vocabulary to adequately describe what I’m seeing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to avoid putting things away. Can you finish judging me when I get back? I’m already late.” Harry hoisted his rucksack onto one shoulder and went to move past Malfoy, who was still blocking his exit.

“You forgot one,” he said nodding to the present sat on the bedside table.

Harry cursed inwardly. He could pretend it was for someone else, but he’d bought it for Malfoy, and he should probably just give it to him. It’s not like things could get much weirder between them. “Ah, yeah, actually, it’s for you.” He said, picking up the present and holding it out towards Malfoy.

Malfoy stared open mouthed at the proffered gift and hesitantly took it from Harry’s outstretched hand. He looked from Harry to the gift and back again a few times, a bewildered expression on his face. “You bought me a Christmas present?” He asked quietly, turning the gift over in his hands.

“Er, yeah? That’s what friends tend to do at Christmas. Not that I expect one back from you or anything,” he added hurriedly. “I just saw it and thought you’d like it, so, there you go. If you hate it, just re-gift it or whatever. I won’t be mad.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d spent the best part of a day scouring Hogsmeade for the perfect gift, and that if it was rejected, he might never recover from the pain. There were some things that didn’t need to be shared.

“Thank you,” Malfoy said with a faint smile. “I actually got you something too, and I wasn’t sure whether to give it to you or not, but, well, here.” He dug his free hand into his pocket and produced a small box wrapped in red and gold. “You need to un-shrink it first. Do I need to remind you of the spell…” he asked with a smirk.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Harry said flatly, adding a smirk when he flicked his eyes up to meet Malfoy’s. Harry took the box and held it in the palm of his hand. It was so beautifully wrapped it almost seemed a shame to spoil it with unwrapping, but Malfoy was watching him expectantly so he took out his wand and enlarged it, mildly surprised when it didn't increase by much. He found an edge and carefully tore back the paper. The box inside was black leather and unadorned with any decoration or indication as to what might be inside. It looked a bit like flat, rectangular, jewellery box, but that couldn’t be right. He glanced up at Malfoy who was chewing a thumb nail and shifting nervously on his feet. Slowly, he lifted the lid and his mouth fell open. It _was_ a jewellery box. Malfoy had bought him a necklace. He lifted it out, almost reverently, and held it up to study it in the light of the window. It was a simple leather thong with a small green gemstone in the centre, held in place by a knot of leather on either side. The book he’d bought for Malfoy suddenly felt wildly inadequate.

“I, ah, I know it’s not a strictly normal gift between friends, since that what we appear to be now, but I wanted to get you something, and... Do you have any idea how hard you are to buy for? But anyway, I remembered I had this, and the stone, it’s an emerald, by the way, matches your eyes, not that I’ve been looking too closely, but they’re hard to miss. If you hate it, I won’t be offended, so—”

“Malfoy, shut up. You’re rambling. I love it, thank you.” Harry said, immensely proud of himself for managing to get the words out without his voice cracking. With a bit of fiddling— his trembling fingers did nothing to help speed up the process —Harry fastened the clasp behind his neck. The stone sat comfortably over the dip at the base of his neck and the leather was soft against his skin. He grinned and looked up at Malfoy to check his response. “What do you think?” He said, pouting while striking his best magazine-model pose.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment and a strange expression played across his face, like he was seeing Harry for the first time. “It suits you,” he said softly. He cleared his throat, and Harry thought he caught sight of a dusting of pink across Malfoy's cheeks before he turned and strode brusquely over to Blaise’s desk. “Hadn’t you best be off?” He snapped, straightening up an already tidy stack of parchment and fiddling with the pot of quills.

“Shit, yeah. McGonagall will have my nuts if I make her wait much longer. Molly too!” Harry shoved the now-empty jewellery box in his bedside drawer and hefted the rucksack onto his back. “Thanks again, Malfoy. Merry Christmas!” He yelled over his shoulder as he dashed off, glad that he wouldn’t have to watch the disappointment on Malfoy’s face when he opened his gift despite still being reluctant to leave him alone.

——

Harry slowly made his way back to the common room. It was late, later than he’d intended, so Malfoy was probably already tucked up in bed. He wouldn’t have to worry about seeing or speaking him until tomorrow, but still, he dragged his feet. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him— he’d missed him far more than he ever thought he would —but he was nervous. His skin felt too tight, his palms were sweaty, his heartbeat felt a touch too fast and loud. 

The Burrow, as expected, had been bursting with noise and colour and delicious smells. Every available surface was filled with either food, drink, or decorations, and every seat was filled. Harry didn’t even get a moment to gather himself after coming through the floo before he was dragged this way and that, hugged to within an inch of his life by everyone who saw him. Mince pies, nuts, and jellied fruits were foisted upon him at an alarming rate, and his mug of hot mulled wine was never allowed to run dry, so by midday, his head was already spinning. 

Overall, it had been an enjoyable day, but he’d been assaulted on all sides by various Weasleys telling him in not so few words that he’d fucked up by letting Ginny go, and now his heart and mind were in turmoil. He’d been so sure before today that he was done with her, that he was done with women full stop, but these people were his family— he loved them, trusted them, respected them —and they were so determined that he and Ginny were ‘meant to be’, that they just needed some time apart to grow and evolve as individuals, but they would end up together in the end. He’d watched her as she moved about the room, and he could vaguely remember feeling something, but had it ever been romantic? Knowing what he now did about himself, he doubted it, but what did he really know about love and relationships? He’d been sure, so sure, and now he was just confused. His heart and body ached for Malfoy, but his head was now telling him he was being ridiculous.

He groaned and slowed his pace even further. His footsteps sounded too loud, echoing through the wide empty corridors; Malfoy would surely hear him coming, and then there’d be no way he could sneak into his room, and Harry really didn’t want to see Malfoy until he’d had a chance to thoroughly pick through everything in his head. He had spent the last few months understanding and accepting his sexual identity, but then a few hours with the Weasleys and he was doubting every conclusion he’d come to. Would they disown him if he never got back together with Ginny? While they might accept him being gay eventually, what would they say if they knew of his all consuming crush on Draco Malfoy? And what about the Wizarding world as a whole —the papers were still running stories on him and Ginny. Life would be so much simpler if he just went along with what everyone apparently wanted, but could he actually do it? Could he spend his life with someone just to please other people? And what about what Ginny wanted? Did she really believe they were ‘meant to be’, like everyone else? Maybe he should just run away and start a new life someplace where nobody knew who he was. He could move to a hut in the wilderness and whittle little wooden ornaments to trade for food. If only he knew how to whittle…

All too soon, the tapestry covering the entrance to the common room loomed in front of him; his legs had carried him here without engaging his brain. The smug-faced cat was curled up at one end of the chaise, its face hidden beneath its tail. Harry cleared his throat to announce his presence, and then again. And again. And then he resorted to yelling. The cat yawned widely and stretched before allowing Harry to tap its nose. Harry scowled as the tapestry swung back, then stomped into the common room grumbling to himself, completely having forgotten about stealthily sneaking off to his room. His eyes lit upon Malfoy almost by accident— it had become an automatic response for him to check the spot by the window every time he passed through —and he froze.

Malfoy was curled up in his usual spot, snoring gently. There was no moon, hidden as it was behind low-lying cloud, so Malfoy’s features were masked by darkness. The glow from the fire added a warmth to his platinum hair that was normally absent and caused shadows to dance and wave. Harry slowly crept towards him, unwilling to wake him up, though no longer because he wanted to avoid him. He needed to be closer, needed to study him while he looked so soft and vulnerable. The book Harry had bought him lay open to one side, one of Malfoy’s hands rested upon it, long delicate fingers that were constantly busy during the day, now curled in gently and lying still. He must have been waiting up for Harry to arrive back, reading the book Harry bought him, wondering where Harry was. Harry’s heart clenched and for a split second he hated himself for being so selfish, so caught up in his own thoughts of self-doubt and confusion that he had forgotten about the lonely boy who’d spent his day waiting for Harry to return.

At that moment, all inner turmoil was forgotten. Harry wasn’t sure why he’d even entertained the thought of getting back with Ginny. Even if he never became anything more than friends with Malfoy; even if Malfoy rejected him outright and never wanted anything more to do with him, there would never be any going back. Not now he had experienced such strong feelings for someone. No one had ever made him ache with want, with the sheer need to be in their presence, like Malfoy. He no longer cared what anyone thought— so what if every bloody person in Britain believed he and Ginny were ‘destined to be together’.

“Harry?” Malfoy’s sleepy voice tore him from his internal monologue. He watched, mesmerized, as the boy unfurled himself and stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. “What time is it? Did I fall asleep?” He asked, his voice still slightly slurred from having just woken up.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, unable to stifle the dopey smile that forced its way onto his face. “It’s late, sorry, I meant to come back sooner, but you know how it is with family.”

Malfoy snorted and Harry mentally kicked himself for bringing up ‘family’ when it was such a sensitive subject. Malfoy either didn’t notice or chose to ignore his blunder. “Come on then, you’d better sit down and tell me all about your oh so twee Weasley Christmas. Was there singing? I bet there was singing. It was like one of those Muggle Christmas films, wasn’t it?”

“Oi!” Harry cried in mock offence. He flopped down beside Malfoy close enough that his knee rested against Malfoy’s outstretched leg, and nudged him with a shoulder. “Well, okay, maybe a bit.” He said, laughing as a smug grin crept across Malfoy’s face. “Wait a minute, what do you know about Muggle Christmas films?”

“Excuse me, but I’ll have you know I excel at all subjects, even Muggle Studies,” he replied haughtily. 

“Wow, you never cease to amaze me.” Harry shook his head in wonder and chuckled loudly at the offended glare Malfoy threw at him. 

“I’d like to say the same for you, but you consistently fail to meet even my lowest expectations,” he drawled.

“Hey!” Harry shoved him semi-playfully in the shoulder and then grunted as Malfoy semi-playfully shoved him back. Before he really knew what was happening, he and Malfoy were wrestling amongst the cushions. After five minutes, Malfoy had the upper-hand, and had Harry’s arms pinned above his head, and had his hips pinned with the combination of a knee on one of Harry’s thighs and his entire body weight on the other. Harry briefly regretted helping to bring Malfoy out of his shell, since he’d have had no trouble defeating September-, or even October-Malfoy. December-Malfoy, however, had clearly been eating and sleeping better, and knew how to use his height and weight advantage to crush Harry’s more diminutive form. Harry bucked and twisted his body to try and shake off the larger boy, but achieved nothing aside from nearly getting himself kneed in the bollocks.

“Surrender!” Malfoy growled in his face, grinning maniacally. 

“Never!” Harry cried.

He squirmed some more, and then stilled as an idea slowly blossomed. He smirked as confusion flickered across Malfoy’s face. As quick as he could, and without allowing himself time to fully consider the consequences, Harry craned his neck up and pressed his lips against Malfoy’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone. Updates might be at more irregular intervals from now as i'm off mat leave soon. I'll try to stick to weds for updates, but we'll see what happens.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr (coriesocks) and twitter (@zebedii)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally get's what he wants...or close to it, anyway. Draco lays some ground rules.

It was…well, nothing like he’d imagined his first kiss with a boy to be. A bit of a non-event really. There was no fanfare, no fireworks, no angels serenading them, it was just a kiss; a dry press of lips on lips. There wasn’t even a hint of tongue. Malfoy held himself rigid and unresponsive above Harry, their bodies still touching at various points, only now it felt more awkward than anything else. The seconds ticked by in slow motion and Harry counted them off in his head. He wasn’t sure what to do. How long did chaste kisses normally last? Malfoy should have responded by now, shouldn’t he? Harry had expected him to either leap backwards in disgust or (preferably) return the kiss with fervour. But his current non-response was disappointing, to say the least. Reluctantly, Harry broke the kiss and opened his eyes, resting his head back on the pillows. Malfoy was staring at him, frowning slightly, their faces only inches apart. Harry could still feel the boy’s breath on his face. He licked his lips and turned his gaze away from Malfoy’s intense scrutiny, embarrassment curling his toes and heating his face. Why on earth did he think kissing Malfoy like that would be a good idea? It was stupid! It was practically assault! And why hadn’t Malfoy said or done anything yet? This was worse than waiting to hear the verdict from his trial at the Wizengamot. 

Harry swallowed nervously. He could feel the gentle weight of the necklace Malfoy had given him around his neck, mocking him and his stupid, impulsive decisions.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I… It was stupid. Sorry.” Harry spoke quickly, hoping his words would unfreeze Malfoy and they could start pretending nothing strange or awkward had ever happened.

Malfoy stared back blankly for a moment longer, then something in him appeared to break. “Shut up, Potter,” he snapped, his voice little more than a growl.

Harry opened his mouth to offer further apologies, but anything he was going to say quickly died in his throat when Malfoy crashed their lips together. This was a proper kiss, thought Harry distractedly as Malfoy’s tongue pushed it's way forcibly into his mouth. It was wet and messy, their tongues warring, teeth scraping, but fuck, it felt good. _Now_ he could hear the fanfare, the fireworks, the serenading angels. Malfoy released his hands and Harry wasted no time in wrapping both arms around the blond, raking fingers through soft hair with one hand and pressing their bodies together with the other. He needed there to be no space between them, needed to feel the hard lines of the other boy’s body against his own. They were wrestling for dominance once again, Harry squirming and writhing beneath Malfoy, only now he had absolutely no intention of throwing the other boy off him. He rolled his hips up, desperate for more pressure where he needed it most and was met halfway by Malfoy, the other boy’s arousal obvious when his erection pressed against Harry’s hardening cock. Malfoy released a breathy moan that went straight to Harry’s groin and he groaned in response, unable to formulate anything more eloquent. Harry repeated the action, rolling his hips up again and again, chasing that delicious friction. Malfoy’s lips left his and then the blond kissed a trail along Harry's jaw, nipping and sucking at his neck, leaving Harry free to utter an increasingly nonsensical string of expletives as desire rapidly overtook all his senses.

It was too much, it was going to be over too soon, but Harry couldn’t stop; didn’t want to stop. Malfoy’s mouth on his neck, his fingers toying with his nipples, his erection hard and insistent against Harry’s— it was like one of his recent dreams come to life. Harry pushed a hand beneath the waistband of Malfoy’s pyjamas and grabbed a handful of his perfect arse, pulling the other boy's hips in closer to meet his thrusts with more force. Malfoy grunted and picked up the pace, his movements soon becoming erratic.

“Fuck, Potter, I.. Fuuuck.” He hissed, and shuddered out a groan.

Harry dragged Malfoy’s head up and smashed their lips back together as he chased his own release, quickly following Malfoy over the edge with a loud moan.

They lay together, panting, for several minutes before either one dared move. Had Malfoy not collapsed with his full weight on Harry’s chest, Harry would have been quite happy to lay entwined together with Malfoy for the rest of the night, despite the rapidly cooling mess in his pants. He shifted and pushed Malfoy to the side to give himself space to breathe, then when the other boy tried to get up, he dragged him back down and hugged him to his side, cradling Malfoy’s head on his chest.

“If you think I’m sleeping before showering this mess off me then you’re more deluded than I thought,” Malfoy drawled, his voice slightly muffled by Harry’s shirt.

“Way to ruin the mood, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, his eyes already feeling heavy.

Malfoy tensed above him. “What mood? There is no mood. We’re just two mutually horny teenagers who helped each other scratch an itch.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Harry said, raising himself up on one elbow and displacing Malfoy from his chest.

He tried to ignore the disappointment that washed over him, but he couldn’t help the way it soured his mood. Was Malfoy seriously going to play this off like it was nothing? It hadn’t been nothing for Harry, far from it— there had been fanfares and everything! But then Harry noticed that Malfoy hadn’t actually moved from his position against Harry’s side, and a tiny glimmer of hope sprung to life. He did his best to reign it in and stamp it down before it got out of control. “Fine. Go have your shower,” he said bitterly, flopping back down onto the cushions. ”This never happened. Mummy and Daddy will never know.” It was stupid to hope he would ever be more than a distraction to Malfoy.

Malfoy slowly extracted himself from the cushion pile, grimacing when the damp patch in his pyjama bottoms clung to his skin. He started to walk back to his room, but then stopped and turned back to face Harry, who was still sprawled on the floor, perfectly happy to settle in for the night.

“You know,” he said hesitantly, “you should probably shower too.” 

Harry glared at him from beneath his fringe, which clung limply to the cooling sweat on his forehead. Who did Malfoy think he was, telling him to shower like it was any concern of his. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Scourgify will tide me over ‘til morning,” he muttered.

Malfoy looked exasperated, though for why Harry wasn’t sure. It’s not like his questionable hygiene was a new development. Why wouldn’t Malfoy sod off and leave him to wallow? 

“I thought, perhaps, it might be prudent to conserve water by showering at the same time, but if you’d rather not, then…it’s your loss.” Malfoy shrugged and turned to leave once more.

Harry frowned. “How would…? Oh. Oh!” He leapt up, all tiredness suddenly forgotten. “You mean you want us to shower together, right? Just so we’re on the same page.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what I meant. Must I spell everything out for you?”

“Well, yeah, if you’re going to be a shit about it. Can you blame me? One minute you’re saying we just ‘scratched an itch’, and the next second you’re inviting me to shower with you. What do you want? What is this to you?” Harry could have kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to drop the whole ‘let’s define our relationship’ question, but Malfoy was so frustrating, and his brain was still muddled from the fantastic orgasm, and now there was a suggestion of more to come? It's no wonder he slipped up and dropped a BIG question.

“I never said the itch had been completely scratched. And can we drop that metaphor? I already regret my choice of words.” He paused, staring over Harry’s head with a slight frown marring his features as he searched for the right words. “Look, I …. We don’t need to label anything. I like you, and I’m glad we’re friends now, but I…I’m not… like you. You know? So this…this…whatever it is, can’t ever be a thing. But if you want to keep doing stuff, then great, because…fuck, it has been far too long since I last got laid.” Malfoy hadn’t met Harry’s eyes once during his little speech, but now he glared defiantly at him as if challenging Harry to disagree.

Harry scrunched his face up as he tried to make sense of what he just heard. One part, in particular, stuck out. “Not like me? Not gay, you mean?”

“Yes, exactly,” Malfoy nodded, his relief evident in the way his expression softened.

Harry stared at him disbelievingly. “You’re not gay, but you still want us to mess around? With our dicks?” 

Malfoy flushed. “Yes. If that’s amenable to you. Of course, we’d have to keep it secret.”

“Of course,” Harry repeated. He was irritated. He knew he should tell Malfoy no. But then he’d potentially miss out on almost two weeks of ‘messing around’, maybe more if he could convince Malfoy to keep doing stuff after term started. The question was, was he prepared to be Malfoy’s dirty secret? Would he be able to keep his emotions out of it enough that he’d emerge unscathed when Malfoy finally got sick of him?

“Fine. Fuck it. Secret friends with secret benefits, right?“ Harry grinned, but it was a mask. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He couldn’t say no though. How could he? Malfoy would never have a proper relationship with him— he didn’t even want people to know they were friends, for fuck’s sake. This was the only way he’d get to have Malfoy in any way, so he’d take it. Shit, he was pathetic.

Malfoy smirked and turned back to walk to the dorms. “Come on then, Potter. If you thought it was fun with our clothes on, just wait until we’re naked. And wet.” 

Arrogant little shit, Harry thought. This was going to kill him, he knew it, but at least he’d die happy, or having been happy, or… fuck it, surely he deserved a bit of fun, even if it was temporary.

“Hey Malfoy, just so you know, I won the wrestling!” Harry called out, before trotting to catch up with Malfoy. He would worry about the implications of allowing himself to be used as Malfoy’s fuck toy another day. There were more important things to focus on right now.

———

The rest of the Christmas holidays passed in a blur. Things continued much as they had in the few days prior to Christmas, only this time there were more kisses, more touches, more orgasms. Harry’s favourite moments, though, were the quiet times after they’d orgasmed when Malfoy actually shut up for five minutes and they just cuddled on the sofa, or on Malfoy’s bed (he refused to lay down in Harry’s bed, like the shabbiness was contagious or something). During these moments, Harry could almost believe they were a proper couple, although he was quick to shut down that line of thought every time it arose; it only depressed him. 

For almost a week, they barely set foot outside of the common room. They didn’t even venture out at mealtimes. Harry wouldn’t have minded sitting down to eat with the handful of students and staff that were still around, but Malfoy preferred to eat together in the common room, so they took turns going down to the Great Hall or to the kitchens for food to bring back and share between them. He knew he should make the most of having Malfoy all to himself though, so he didn’t complain. And honestly, the play fight they’d had after Harry had accidentally gotten chocolate cake on Malfoy’s face one dinner time, and the way Malfoy had melted beneath him afterwards was one of the highlights of his week.

By New Year’s Eve, the self-imposed confinement was beginning to grate on Harry though, and as much as he enjoyed lounging around in his underwear with Malfoy, he needed a change of scenery, or some fresh air, or anything that wasn’t the 8th year common room.

“We’re going out,” Harry stated, cutting Malfoy off mid-rant as he built his case for it not being his turn to forage for food in the kitchens.

“Excuse me?” He spluttered.

“You heard me. Out. Somewhere, anywhere. I don’t care. I can’t sit in this room all day and night again. Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve, we should do something fun. That’s what normal friends do.” He fiddled absently with the stone of his necklace, twisting around the leather thong. It was becoming something of a nervous habit, even after such a short while.

Malfoy glared at him, back rigid and arms folded across his chest. “When were you ever normal? And what do you mean we should do something fun? Is what we’ve been doing together a chore for you? You were very vocal about enjoying yourself this morning when I sucked you off, or was that a lie?” 

Harry blushed, but he wasn’t about to be distracted off topic. “You know that’s not what I meant. Of course dick stuff is fun, but I just need to do something outside of this room; outside of this castle, even.”

“Well, by all means, be my guest. I’ve no intention of keeping you here against your will. You might want to get dressed first though.” Malfoy raised an eyebrow and pointedly ran his eyes over the length of Harry’s body. 

Harry glanced down and realised he was only wearing the bright yellow niffler boxers he’d received for Christmas. The blush on Harry’s cheeks, which hadn’t fully abated since Malfoy’s earlier comment, flared up again. “Shut up, Malfoy. I want us to do something _together_ , you idiot. Out there.” He gestured towards the window. 

Malfoy turned to look in the direction he pointed and paled, the arrogant mask slipping slightly. “You know we can’t,” he said quietly. “What if someone sees us?”

Harry’s heart lurched upon seeing the fight drain out of Malfoy. He’d gotten used to the boy being somewhat back to his old self within the confines of the common room, but this was a reminder that he was still broken; the confidence, the snark, was just an act. However, Harry was determined they would leave this room together, so leave they would. “I don’t mean we should go prancing through Hogsmeade hand in hand, I just want us to go outside.” He said softly, reaching out to grab Malfoy’s hand and pull him into an embrace. He half expected Malfoy to pull away— they generally weren’t physically affectionate other than pre- or post sex —but surprisingly, Malfoy relaxed into Harry’s arms. 

“Why don’t we go down to that spot by the lake where I found you when I returned your wand?” Harry asked softly into Malfoy’s neck. “One of us could wear my invisibility cloak, we could take a blanket to sit on, get some snacks from the kitchen, take that bottle of fire whiskey I know Blaise hid under his bed…” Harry trailed off upon realising Malfoy had lifted his head off his shoulder and was now staring at him incredulously. “…What?”

“You have a cloak of invisibility?“ Malfoy said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Er, yeah?” Harry replied uncertainly. Was that a bad thing? Should he not have admitted it? Why couldn’t they go back to cuddling again?

“Well, bloody hell. Fuck me sideways. That explains so much!” Malfoy exclaimed, pulling away from Harry and gripping his shoulders tightly with his long fingers. Harry looked up at him cautiously, unsure whether or not he should be making any attempt to escape. Malfoy was staring at him intensely and Harry felt himself shrink under the other boy’s gaze. After a few moments, a broad grin erupted on Malfoy’s face. “You’re not even lying, are you. Salazar, we can have so much fun with this! Where is it? Come on, chop chop! We’ve got supplies to fetch!” Malfoy cried with a devilish glint in his eye. 

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help himself— the sudden change in Malfoy’s demeanour was catching. The normally restrained blond practically bounced around the room, grabbing blankets and cushions, and shrinking them down to fit in his pocket, all the while snapping orders at Harry to get dressed, move faster, find the whiskey. Ten minutes later, they were heading down to the kitchens, Malfoy barely concealed beneath the cloak, then half an hour after that, they were huddled beneath a blanket under the stars, toasting the new year with ‘borrowed’ whiskey.

——

The week before the students returned saw Malfoy making full use of the cloak to follow Harry around the castle. The first day of term loomed ahead of them like a dementor, tainting everything with a hint of desperation, but Harry greatly enjoyed having the freedom to roam around again without worrying about missing out on spending time with Malfoy. He hated that their time together had such an immediate expiration date, but he knew he would never regret his choices (…well, maybe he would initially, but in the long run, he knew he’d look back on this time fondly). They didn’t get up to anything in particular, other than when Malfoy dragged him into alcoves and empty classrooms as and when the mood struck him, but Harry hadn’t realised how tense he’d become from hiding himself away with Malfoy for a week until he was once again able to walk off his frustrations and dark moods. 

Harry stretched and glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy was sitting on a branch in the tree behind him, one leg dangling down, the book Harry had bought him held open in one hand, and the cloak draped over his lap. How on earth he managed to make perching on a branch look akin to lounging on a chaise, Harry had no idea, but the sight made him smile. They’d decided to come to their spot by the lake for their last day together. It was cold and windy, and Harry was fast losing the feeling in his fingers, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Malfoy always looked so happy and at peace here.

“Oi, scarhead, what are you grinning at?” Malfoy yelled over the top of his book, snapping Harry out of his sappy thoughts.

Harry gave him the finger before answering with a grin. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“You.”

“Oh.” Harry was delighted to see the blush spread across Malfoy’s slack face. “Well stop it. You look like an idiot.” Malfoy sneered and raised the book to hide his face, but not quick enough to hide the small smug smile from Harry’s view.

Harry shook his head and chuckled to himself, but the smile soon dropped when he remembered that the students would be arriving in just a few short hours. As much as he’d tried to push the thought to the back of his mind so it wouldn’t mar their last moments together, it wouldn’t stay down. He sighed and looked back at the beautiful boy in the tree. _His_ beautiful boy in the tree, at least for now. There was no way that could be comfortable, he mused.

“It’s going to be weird when everyone’s back,” Harry said after a short silence. Malfoy grunted noncommittally so Harry prodded a bit more. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird?”

Malfoy huffed. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say.” 

“Aren’t you even a bit, I don’t know…sad…?” Harry wasn’t sure that was the right word, and judging by Malfoy’s expression, he could have chosen better but he stuck by it. “We won’t get to hang out like this again, not when everyone is back.” Harry waited with bated breath for a response. He desperately wanted Malfoy to say that he was stupid, that of course they’d still hang out, but he knew that would never happen.

Malfoy closed the book and clasped it with both hands in his lap. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a few moments before answering, but Harry didn’t actually need to hear his response; he knew what was coming. Despite all the promises he made himself, and despite squashing down every last flicker of hope, the disappointment welled up inside him. 

“It won’t be that bad,” Malfoy said eventually. “It’ll just be like it was before. We’ll still get to speak at night, if you want. But you know we can’t…” Malfoy trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. We can’t be seen to be friends. It’s just—” Harry bit back the next words and sighed, frustrated with himself. Malfoy had been very clear that they were nothing more than friends with benefits and Harry had promised himself he wouldn’t get his emotions involved, wouldn’t let his crush get out of control, wouldn’t beg Malfoy for something he wasn’t willing to give. “Forget it. I have to go and tidy my shit up before Blaise gets back.” Harry pushed himself up and set off for the castle without looking back. He didn’t want Malfoy to see the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes.

——

Harry picked up another pair of pants that had somehow migrated to Blaise’s side of the room during the course of the holidays and tossed them over his shoulder towards his bed. He most assuredly was not sulking, or wallowing, or hiding, he was just tidying up. Tidying up and not thinking about Malfoy at all. Not thinking about the way his hair would stick out in all directions first thing in the morning, or about the way he would nuzzle into Harry’s neck when they sat entwined around each other at the window or on the sofa in the evenings, and definitely not about the way he moaned Harry’s name as he came. No. Not at all. He stared at the pile of laundry on his bed and raked a hand absently through his hair. There was no telling what was clean, what had been worn but could be worn again, and what was dirty, so after no more than a moment’s deliberation he gathered everything up and dropped the whole bundle into the hamper. 

“Looks better already,” he mumbled to himself, surveying the room proudly with his hands on his hips.

“Wow, so there _was_ a floor under all those clothes.”

Harry spun round guiltily upon hearing the familiar drawl. Malfoy was leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded, looking every bit the cad. How long had he been stood there, watching Harry scrabble about on the floor on his hands and knees? He clenched his fists at his sides; irritation at being taken by surprise mingling with annoyance at his inability to maintain emotional distance from Malfoy. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” He said sullenly, turning back to his bed and making a show of straightening it out. He wasn’t really mad at Malfoy, he was mad at himself for holding onto the small kernel of hope that there might actually be something between them. He still didn’t trust himself not to blurt something overly needy or desperate so the last thing he needed was Malfoy poking at him until he exploded in a mess of feelings.

At the sound of Harry’s obvious displeasure, Malfoy seemed to deflate, his arrogance leaving him in a frustrated sigh. He moved tentatively into the room, the door swinging shut behind him, and perched on the edge of Blaise’s bed. “I don’t know why you’re being such a git about this. You knew this thing between us was temporary. We should be making the most of this last afternoon before the rabble return.”

Harry turned to glare at him. For some reason, he’d been expecting an apology. “Well, I’m not in the mood, so if you’re quite done calling me a git, the door’s right there.”

“What’s gotten into you? I thought we were friends? Is this it then? Now that I won’t be regularly sucking your cock or fingering your arse, suddenly you don’t want me around?”

“What? That’s not it at all!” How had Malfoy managed to turn this onto him? Of all the…“You don’t get to be mad at me, okay? I’ve stuck by you, listened to you, agreed to your stupid demands, all for whatever scraps of attention you’ve felt like throwing at me. Don’t you dare try and make me the bad guy in this.”

Malfoy started, taken aback by Harry’s tone. He looked down at his hands and the bed creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. “If I’ve said or done anything to upset you, then I… I apologise. It was never my intention to hurt you.” 

“Why bother. Seriously, what’s the fucking point? You’ll be back to pretending I don’t exist as soon as everyone gets back.” Harry spat, not even bothering to hide the hurt and anger.

Malfoy glared at him, eyes narrowed. “You know why that is, Potter. I thought you understood. You said you were okay with it. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“No. It’s what’s best for your parents. None of this is what’s best for me. Or for you.”

“Come on, Potter, think about it. There is no way people will let it pass without comment if they know you’re friends with a death eater.”

“Yeah, well I don’t care about that. I…shit….” Harry dragged a hand over his face. He didn't want to say what he was about to, but it was forcing its way out anyway. “…I’m going to miss you, okay? I'll miss us. The last couple of weeks have been amazing and I really hate that it's almost over.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened before he wrenched his gaze away and sighed deeply. “I’ll miss us too.” He said quietly, not looking up from his hands.

After a few moments of intense internal battling, Harry stood up and crossed the small room to sit beside Malfoy on Blaise’s bed, close enough that their thighs and shoulders touched. Tentatively, he reached over and took one of Malfoy’s hand in his own, weaving their fingers together. Malfoy squeezed his hand back. 

“You know what the worst thing is?” Harry said after a short pause. “For the first time ever, I'm not looking forward to seeing my friends, because as soon as they get here, I lose you.” He smiled regretfully.

Malfoy reached up with his free hand and cupped Harry’s jaw, turning his face so their foreheads pressed together. Harry tried to feel happy at this brief show of intimacy, but it just felt like a painful, last goodbye. Shit. When had he turned into such a sap? Slowly, hesitantly, Malfoy moved his face closer, and then all of a sudden their lips were moving against each other; a sweet, chaste kiss quickly turning heated. Fuck it, thought Harry. If this really was goodbye, it was going to be the best fucking goodbye ever. He raked his fingers through the other boy's soft blond hair, and then dragged Malfoy onto his lap without their lips losing contact once. Malfoy ground down with his hips and Harry shuddered out a moan, painfully aware that this could well be the last time he’d get to hear Malfoy’s soft grunts as he chased his own pleasure, and the last time he’d be able to grab a handful of Malfoy’s perfect arse and draw their bodies more tightly together—

A muffled sound filtered through into Harry’s hazy mind and he stilled. Were those voices? Surely not. The train wasn’t due in for at least an hour, right?

“What? What is it?” Malfoy said, noticing Harry’s lack of movement.

“It’s nothing,” he said, returning to kissing and sucking his way along Malfoy’s jaw line. “I thought I heard something,” he muttered between kisses, “but it was probably nothing.” 

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Malfoy said breathlessly, his head angled up to give Harry better access, “I’m going to make you come so hard, you forget how to speak.”

“I look forward to letting you try,” Harry grinned, reaching up to pull Malfoy in for another kiss—

—the door clicked open and Blaise’s voice filled the room. Harry leapt up, causing Malfoy to fall into an undignified heap on the floor, and they both stared, wide eyed in horror at the door. Blaise hadn’t entered yet; he must be chatting to someone just outside— the door was only open a crack so Harry couldn’t see who. He hastily adjusted his trousers and tried to straighten out his shirt (when had Malfoy opened those buttons?), while frantically looking about the room for something to hold in front of himself that didn’t scream ‘inconvenient erection’. Malfoy had somehow already managed to arrange himself casually on Blaise’s bed, a Quidditch magazine laying open across his lap. How the hell did he manage to look so unruffled?

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t my two favourite boys!” Blaise proclaimed loudly as he strode into the room.

“Hey!” Neville said over his shoulder. Great. Neville was here too. “Hi Harry, Draco. Good Christmas?”

“Um, yeah, s’alright,” Harry mumbled, shuffling over to his bed. Where was a wormhole when you needed it? Or a just simple hole in the floor? Anything to remove himself from this situation in the fastest time possible.

“You two had fun, I take it?” Blaise said, grinning widely and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well, this was a lovely reunion, but I should get back to my room before Longbottom here tries to unpack his crap in the wrong place,” Malfoy said, unfolding himself gracefully from the bed and stalking out of the door. Neville quickly turned to follow him.

“Next time, try reading the magazine the right way up - you never know, you might actually learn something!” Blaise called after him, still grinning like he was in the midst of his best day ever.

Harry glanced over and saw that what he had initially thought was a Quidditch magazine was actually one of Blaise’s ‘Incendio’ magazines. Shit. He cringed and risked a look at Blaise.

“I’m going to unpack, but then you are going to tell me everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, that you and my boy Draco got up to this Christmas,” he smirked, turning his back on Harry and beginning the task of unpacking.

Harry groaned and hid his face under a pillow. 

“Nice necklace by the way. Draco has one just like it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay posting! RL stuff blah blah excuses blah blah procrastination blah blah.
> 
> This fic is FINALLY at the stage I envisaged it would be at after the first chapter. phew. Everything written so far was supposed to be something of a prologue that just got waaaaaaay out of hand. I can't help it. I just love writing fluff.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Harry watched with one eye from beneath the safety of his pillow as Blaise pottered about their room, unpacking, tidying, and muttering about lazy Gryffindors. He’d almost dozed off by the time Blaise finally stopped moving and sat down on his bed. He faced Harry’s prone form, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him.

“So,” Blaise said after a few moments when Harry hadn't moved or acknowledged him, “how was your Christmas?” He smirked knowingly and it took all Harry had not to slide off the mattress and hide beneath the bed. 

Heaving a put-upon sigh, he flung the pillow to one side and sat up to face his interrogator. “Fine. Yours?”

“Yes, yes, very relaxing, invigorating, usual extended family crap, “ he said, waving a hand dismissively. ”But enough about me. Would you care to explain why Draco looked like he’d been caught with his pants down when I arrived?”

Harry flinched at the wording and hastily averted his gaze to the floor, an internal debate raging. He should probably just tell Blaise the truth; it’s not like the other boy hadn’t already come to that conclusion by himself (one day he would find out how Blaise seemed to know everything about him). But Malfoy had been so adamant about keeping things between them a secret, Harry didn’t really want to betray the boy’s trust, even to said boy’s best friend.

“Harry? What did you do to Draco?” Blaise’s voice was pitched lower now, all trace of amusement gone. His protectiveness over Malfoy really was quite spectacular, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, whether Blaise was like this with everyone, or whether there was something special about his relationship with the blond.

Harry swallowed thickly, regretting that he’d not once quizzed Malfoy on the best way to handle suspicious friends. “Nothing!” He squeaked, which, unsurprisingly, did nothing to placate the snarling beast in front on him. “Seriously Blaise, nothing happened. We just hung out a bit, since we were the only ones here…and…well, that’s it really,” he added quickly.

“If you’ve done anything to upset him, I’ll gut you. The muggle way.” Blaise said, fixing Harry with a glare that almost had him ducking under his blankets for shelter.

Harry groaned internally. He knew he needed to give Blaise more to go on, or he would never settle down; he was acting like a mother bear and Harry was trying to kidnap one of his cubs. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you, but please don't say anything to Malfoy. He'll kill me.”

“That all depends on what it is you're about to say. You're a good bloke, Harry, but Draco will always come first.”

Harry smiled weakly and took a steadying breath before continuing. “So, Malfoy and I are..." He paused. How far should he go? "...well, we're friends, I guess, but he doesn’t want anyone to know, which is why he freaked out when you and Neville caught us together. That's all there is to it.”

Blaise glared at him a moment longer, but then his expression softened a fraction. “So you’re secret friends? Oh, that’s cute,” he said, not even trying to stifle the grin that broke out. “So what, you guys hung out plaiting each other’s hair and talking about hot boys?” Blaise’s demeanour switched so rapidly from suspicious and dangerous back to amused Harry could barely keep up.

He scowled, feeling his cheeks redden. “No, we…” he started, ready to defend his and Malfoy’s friendship to the end, but then something that Blaise had said finally filtered through to his brain. “Wait, why would we talk about boys? Malfoy’s straight, isn’t he?” Did Blaise know about Malfoy's preferences? Harry had assumed that Malfoy’s friends thought he was straight since he was so adamant that this was the case despite what they had been doing together for the last two weeks, but the way Blaise was talking…

“Sure, sure. That’s what he keeps telling me too, but it was hard to take him seriously when his mouth was around my cock.”

Harry’s jaw fell open and he stared, open-mouthed, at Blaise. He felt like his brain was short-circuiting. Malfoy and Blaise were together? When was this? Why did no one tell him? What the fuck was happening? And why did Blaise just casually out his super-closeted best friend?

“Wait, wait, wait,” Harry said as Blaise stood up, looking far too pleased with himself, “are you telling me that Malfoy is your ex?”

“Don't be ridiculous! It was nothing like that. We just messed about a bit, fucked a few times. You know how it is.”

“Um, no. No, I clearly don’t know how it is.” Harry said, starting to feel a bit irritated at Blaise’s attitude. How could he be so flippant about something like this?

“Come on, we were two bored, pretty, incredibly horny teenage boys. That sort of thing is inevitable. What would you expect us to do?”

Harry threw his arms up exasperatedly. “I don’t know, read a book? Play sports? Normal friends don’t fuck just because they’re bored. Jesus fucking Christ, Blaise.”

“Look, I’m sorry for just dropping it on you like that. I assumed you knew, what with you both hanging out alone and reading gay porno together. And hey, if you think about it, I did you a favour— at least one of you will have some experience when you finally bone!”

Once again, Harry found himself rendered temporarily speechless. “Oh. My. God. What makes you think we’re going to… _bone_? I don’t even… I mean, we’re not… He’s not… Shit.” Harry hid his face in his hands. “Please stop talking, and please don’t tell him any of this. Or anyone else.” He said, peeking out through the gaps between his fingers.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Blaise said casually, shrugging a shoulder as if he hadn’t just exposed Harry’s crush, outed his best friend, and come close to discovering what really happened over the holidays. “If you hurt him though, I’ll kill you.” He smiled and strode confidently out of the room, leaving Harry to sit, dumbfounded, on the bed trying to work out what the fuck just happened.

———

Harry wasn’t sure how long he sat motionless on the bed turning the recent conversation with Blaise over and over in his head, but it must have been a while judging by the growling of his stomach. He was about to get up in search of food, when his door flew open and his two best friends appeared, grinning, in the doorway.

“Harry! Mate!” Ron exclaimed, as if he’d not seen Harry for years instead of only a couple of weeks. “See, I told you he’d be in here,” he said to Hermione, who just rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly. Sometimes Harry forgot that they’d only been together a relatively short while. Even with the bickering, they always appeared to be so in sync with each other. He hoped one day he’d have a connection like theirs with someone of his own.

“Hi guys,” Harry said, not even attempting to hide his relief at seeing them both. He stood up and the trio engulfed each other in a tight three-way hug before all settling down on Harry’s bed.

“What’re you doing up here all alone? ‘Mione thought you might be catching up with Blaise, but then we remembered we saw him and Nev go out for a walk or something ages ago.”

Hermione smiled and leaned forward to rest a hand on Harry’s knee. “Are you okay, Harry? I felt absolutely awful every time I thought about you here all by yourself over the holidays.”

“I wasn’t by myself, and you sent me a letter every day, so it was almost as good as having you guys here. You really don’t need to worry. I had fun.”

“Fun? With no one but Malf…ooof.” Ron doubled over as Hermione’s elbow connected with his stomach.

“Don’t listen to him, Harry. So, you and Draco got on alright? The common room is still in one piece so I can only assume things were okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess he’s not so bad now.” He shrugged, hoping that he appeared nonchalant when in reality he wanted nothing more than to gush about how amazing Malfoy was— the way he would always press the tip of his nose into Harry’s neck and inhale deeply when they cuddled, the way he was always impeccably dressed even when there was no one but Harry to see him, the way he would randomly launch into a self-depreciating story from his childhood when he noticed Harry needed distracting from his thoughts, the reverent way he whispered _Harry_ over and over when he was nearing completion —but he held himself back. He’d tell them eventually, minus a few of the more personal details of course, but right now he didn’t trust Ron to not immediately rush off and hex their former nemesis if he got even a whiff of Harry’s true feelings. In fact, it would probably be easier to come out to them rather than admitting just how well he and Malfoy actually got on now.

The trio had spent a pleasant half an hour catching up on their holidays (Harry providing a severely edited version of events), and it was almost time to head downstairs for the welcome back feast. He had so far successfully managed to turn all questions about his holidays back on his friends, keeping the focus away from himself and thus lessening the chances of him slipping up and accidentally admitting to giving Malfoy a handjob in the common room, or something else equally as incriminating. 

“I like your necklace, by the way. I noticed it at Christmas but didn’t get a chance to say anything. Is it new?” Hermione asked as they were about to get up.

Harry’s blood turned to ice in his veins and his hand flew up to the emerald at his neck, rolling it in his fingers a few times and taking some comfort from the feel of its smooth surface. “Er, yeah. It is,” he said carefully, hoping desperately there would be no follow-up questions. 

“Oh, was it a gift?” Of course there were follow-up questions. Why couldn’t Hermione just for once settle for not knowing the ‘full picture’? Why did she always feel the need to prod, and poke, and squeeze until every last scrap of information was bled out of her target?

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, not willing to look either friend in the eye.

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer.

“…From…?” They prompted in sync after the silence stretched into minutes.

“Um, just a friend. Come on, let’s go to dinner.” Harry made to leave the room but his way was, unsurprisingly, blocked.

Ron eyed him suspiciously. “Hang on a minute. What sort of friend buys a necklace as a gift? Was it Neville? Ginny? Dean? Luna?…”

“I have other friends, you know,” Harry snapped, cutting Ron off before he could rattle off everyone in their friendship group.

Hermione gasped suddenly and clasped her hands to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! Have you met someone? Who is she? Do we know her? This is so exciting!”

“You’ve got a girlfriend? And you didn’t say anything? Merlin! This is why you didn’t come home over Christmas, isn’t it! You were getting laid!” Ron appeared to be torn between being proud that Harry was potentially getting some action, and upset that he’d not yet been given a play-by-play of it. 

“Would you both just shut up!” He shouted, before they could get even more carried away. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend…” Harry watched as his friends deflated in front of him, “…but… I have met someone.”

Hermione squealed, clearly trying hard to control her excitement, and Ron grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. He took a deep breath. This was it. He should do it now…

“So, who is she?” Hermione urged, when Harry seemed reluctant to continue.

“It’s, um, well…,” he said carefully. His heart was racing and his skin felt like it was buzzing. He wiped damp palms on his trousers, swallowed thickly, and closed his eyes before continuing. He didn’t want to see their expressions. “He’s not ‘out’ so we’re keeping things a secret for now.”

All Harry could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. He thought he was going to cry. Or be sick. Why was no one saying anything? He had hoped the rejection would come quickly, but this silence was just cruel. He slowly opened his eyes and raised his head to look at his two friends. Hermione still had her hands over her mouth, eyes shimmering, whereas Ron was completely motionless and slack-jawed. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, before launching herself at him and engulfing him in a suffocating hug. He cautiously raised his arms and squeezed his back as the realisation that he wasn’t being rejected sunk in. He burrowed his face into her bushy hair and breathed in her warm cocoa and parchment scent, uncaring of the tears he felt escaping. When they finally broke apart, he risked a glance at Ron, who’d not uttered a sound since hearing Harry’s confession. From the corner of his eye, he caught Hermione glaring at her boyfriend, and this seemed to jolt the ginger into action.

"Since when are you a poof?" Ron said, flinching at Hermione’s frustrated cry of _Ron!_.

Harry frowned but decided to leave it to Hermione to tackle appropriate terminology with her boyfriend. "Since forever. Why? Have you got a problem with it?" He asked, his body tensing, readying itself for conflict.

"But we've shared a dorm for years. We've changed in the same room. Bloody hell, we've showered in the same room! A bloke has a right to know if—"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled, thankfully cutting him off before Harry was forced to smash his fist into Ron's face. "I strongly urge that you do not finish that sentence. Harry is our best friend! He deserves our unconditional support." 

Ron glared at his girlfriend and best friend, his face red and fists clenched at his side. Slowly, under the weight of Hermione's reproachful glare, he relaxed his hands and some of the tension drained from the room. Harry still held himself stiffly, ready to lash out if necessary. He was more than a little bit upset at Ron's reaction, though he shouldn't really have been surprised since he was a pureblood like Malfoy.

“So I guess this means you and Ginny won’t be getting back together?” Ron said, eventually breaking the tense silence.

“No, but that wouldn’t be happening regardless of my preferences,” Harry said shortly. 

“Huh. So, this bloke you're....you know....”

"...fucking?" Harry supplied, relishing the sight of his friend's discomfort. 

Ron cleared his throat. "...yeah, that. Anyone we know?"

"Why? Does it matter?"

Ron grimaced but didn't press any further. "Nah, guess not." He grinned but it was too wide, too forced. "I’m starved, let’s go down to the hall. McGonagall will string us up if we’re late.”

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Hermione as Ron left the room, and wasn’t reassured to see how concerned she looked. He really hoped he hadn't fucked things up between her and Ron. Another dollop of guilt for him to enjoy stressing about when he should be sleeping. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him,” she said, hooking her arm through Harry’s. “I’m really glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy.” She stretched up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and Harry smiled fondly at her. 

“Thanks, Hermione.”

His emotions were a jumbled mess, but at least he knew he had one person on his side. Hopefully, Ron would come round too—if not for his sake, then for Hermione's. As they passed through the common room, arms linked, he caught sight of Malfoy sat by the fire and being talked at by Pansy. Their eyes met briefly, but Malfoy blanched and quickly turned away. The little flip his heart had done upon seeing the blond, fell flat when he remembered that they were back to how things were before Christmas. He sighed. At least they’d still have the nighttimes. 

————

Most of the students were already seated when Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall. Ron muttered something over his shoulder about needing to speak to Theo about chess then hurried off, leaving Harry and Hermione to gape after his retreating back. Hermione shot Harry another apologetic smile and squeezed his arm before dragging him off to their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. Eighth years were technically allowed to sit wherever they wanted, but old house affiliations were so deeply ingrained that many chose to sit at their former house tables during formal meal times. It pained him greatly that Ron couldn’t even bring himself to sit at the same table as him, but hopefully Hermione was right and he’d get over his apparent homophobia in time. Whatever happened, he refused to dwell on Ron’s reaction; if he couldn’t accept Harry for who he was, then fuck him.

Once everyone was seated, Professor McGonagall stood up and addressed the room. It was the usual spiel— welcome back blah blah, be nice to each other blah blah, don’t break rules blah blah blah —and Harry quickly tuned her out. He caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s blond head over at the Slytherin table, between his ebony-haired best friends, and his mind soon began to wander back to some of the more pleasurable times they’d had over the Christmas holidays. He wondered whether Blaise had said anything to Malfoy about their chat earlier; he’d said he would keep it a secret, but would he? What if he secretly wanted Malfoy for himself? Maybe he was bad-mouthing Harry right now to get him out of the way. Or what if they were shagging already and Harry was just a ‘bit on the side’? His thoughts quickly devolved as an irrational panic welled up inside, but then Hermione dug a pointy elbow sharply into his side and directed his attention back to McGonagall.

“If you’ve been keeping up with the wizarding press over the last couple of months, I’m sure you’ll be more than aware of the activity of an individual the papers are imaginatively calling ‘ _the vigilante_ ’. Minister Shacklebolt informs me that there are concerning reports of this person, or persons, being active in and around Hogsmeade…” she paused as the gathered students collectively gasped “…As such, in addition to there now being Aurors actively patrolling Hogsmeade and the surrounding area, we have taken steps to increase security on the school grounds. You need not be alarmed, and I implore you to carry on as you normally would.” As soon as McGonagall stopped talking, the hall erupted with a mixture of excited and worried voices as everyone turned to their friends and tossed theories around. 

Hermione looked wide-eyed with worry and Harry did his best to comfort her while mourning the loss of what was supposed to be his one peaceful year at Hogwarts.

Before everyone got too carried away, McGonagall once again demanded their attention. “Quiet! That’s quite enough! Now, I know you’re all worried, but please be assured that you are all perfectly safe within the school grounds. Unfortunately, as we have less control over other areas, for the foreseeable future, all weekend trips to Hogsmeade will be cancelled, and that includes 8th years too.” 

She may have said more, but Harry was unable to hear due to the huge wall of noise that rose up from the tables. Frustrated cries rang out throughout the hall, barely discernible from the rest of the noise:  
“What!?”  
“She can’t do this to us!”  
“What about Saturday pub nights!?”  
“Fuck the vigilante!”

Harry watched silently as his friends vented their anger and frustration at having their one of their perks restricted. He shared their annoyance—he didn’t do ‘cowering in fear’ well, and he didn’t like being told he couldn’t do something because one crazy person decided to ruin everything—but more than that, he felt the first cold tendrils of dread tightening around his chest. Everything was supposed to be different; they’d won the war, the baddies were defeated. So why did it feel like nothing had changed?

———

Harry’s nightmares kicked up a gear after McGonagall’s announcement. They had lessened to something of a dull background ache in his life over recent months; he’d be woken by them, but not so harshly that he wouldn’t be able to sleep afterwards. In fact, if he hadn’t been so eager to see Malfoy, he probably would have been able to stay in bed most nights after being disturbed by a nightmare. However, every night for a week since the welcome feast, he’d woken gasping for air as the terror constricted his throat and had been unable to shake the horrific imagery. Despite this, despite leaving his bed every single night and camping out in his cushion nest in the common room, he’d not once encountered Malfoy, and this was only adding to his stress. The daytimes were no better. Every time he so much as glanced in Malfoy’s direction, the boy all but ran from the room. It was like things were back to how they were at the beginning of September, only this time he had the memories of their closeness over Christmas to torment himself with.

By the end of the second week of term, Harry had still not uttered one word to Malfoy, but it wasn’t through lack of trying, and he was going out of his mind from the strain. He had considered asking Blaise for advice, but if Malfoy’s avoidance of him was down to some upset Harry had unwittingly caused, then he didn’t want to bring Blaise’s wrath down upon himself unnecessarily. He just wanted to know why Malfoy had all of a sudden cut off contact with him. He understood that things between them couldn’t be how they were over Christmas, but he had at the very least expected Malfoy to show up in the common room after midnight once or twice. He had even, foolishly, been hopeful that they might acknowledge each other’s presence during the day, maybe even say ‘hi’ every so often, but it was very hard to do that when Malfoy wouldn’t even look at him.

Harry was so lost in his inner turmoil that evening, he almost missed seeing Malfoy stalk across the common room towards the dorms. He tracked the boy’s movement until he disappeared out of sight through the archway and then stared at the empty space where he’d been.

“Did you answer number six yet?” Dean asked, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to get a closer look at his parchment before letting out a small gasp. “You’ve not even started! What have you been doing all night?”

Harry glanced down at the parchment in front of him. Dean wasn’t totally correct, he _had_ started; the title and his name were scrawled across the top, along with the first question…he just hadn’t gotten around to answering it yet. Stupid Malfoy. Harry knew then that he couldn’t let the situation continue; he didn’t think McGonagall, or any of the other teachers for that matter, would let him get away with submitting half-arsed homework just because the boy he liked was suddenly pretending he didn’t exist. 

“I don’t feel so good. I’ll just do it tomorrow,” he said, hastily gathering up his notes and quills and stuffing them into his bag. He dashed off to the dormitories without looking back— he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone where he was going or what he was about to do.

——

Moments later he was stood outside Malfoy’s door wondering what the hell he was going to say. Would Malfoy even talk to him, or would he hex first and ask questions later? What would he do if Malfoy just told him to fuck off and leave him alone? This was a stupid idea. Malfoy’s attitude towards him the last couple of weeks made it fairly obvious he wanted nothing to do with him; he’d had his fun and now he’d discarded Harry just like he said he would, and Harry was acting like the needy, pathetic, puppy he swore he wouldn’t be.

The door swung open, putting a sudden stop to Harry’s spiralling thoughts, and he came face to face with a very surprised looking Neville. Shit. He’d forgotten they were roommates.

“Alright, Harry!” Neville said, quickly overcoming his surprise. “I’m just heading down to the greenhouses, but I’ve got a few minutes if you need something— Blaise is never ready on time.”

“Blaise? What..?” Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. He wasn’t going to get distracted by the whole Neville and Blaise weirdly becoming best-mates thing. “Um, actually, I was hoping to talk to Malfoy, if he’s around.”

“Oh, sure, okay,” Neville said, unable to hide his confusion. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then. See you later Harry.” 

Neville brushed past Harry, leaving him standing in front of the open doorway. Malfoy’s side of the room was mostly hidden from view by the door, so Harry wasn’t even sure if he was in there. He slowly edged forward, not entirely comfortable with surprising Malfoy if he was in the bathroom or in bed, despite what they’d been up to together. As he pushed the door shut behind him, he spotted Malfoy at his desk hunched over a large textbook. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, even though there was no way the snarky shit hadn’t heard his brief interaction with Neville.

“What? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Malfoy snapped, without looking around.

“Why haven’t you been coming down to the common room at night?” Harry asked, straight down to business.

Malfoy sighed and turned around in his chair to face Harry, though he didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve not been waking up, so I haven’t needed to.”

“Bollocks. Have you seen yourself? If you’ve been sleeping fine, then I’m Voldemort’s left nut.”

Malfoy blinked. “Piss off. I look great, as always.”

“Whatever. Look, I get that we need to act like we’re not friends or whatever, but I you said we’d still have the nights. This whole vigilante thing has fucked up my head and I kind of need you there to call me a dumb Gryffindor and take the piss out of me when I can’t sleep.”

Malfoy looked torn. “We came so close to being discovered,” he said quietly. “If it gets out, what we did, what do you think they’ll do to me? To us? My parents absolutely cannot know—they'll disown me! And I don't even want to consider what the press and all your rabid fans would do. It’s best that we don’t spend any time together, that way there’s no chance of getting found out.”

Harry sagged. “Is that really what you want? For us to completely ignore each other?”

“How are you not more worried? Aren’t even a tiny bit scared of someone finding out that you’re…you know…”

“Gay? You can say it out loud, Malfoy. It’s not poisonous. Jesus. And no, I’m not worried. In fact, I already came out to Ron and Hermione. And Blaise knows too.”

“Blaise knows? What did he say? Does he know about…” Malfoy frantically gestured between the pair of them.

Harry thought twice about revealing just how much Blaise had told him. He didn’t want to risk Malfoy shutting him out again. “Um, well…”

“Oh, Salazar. Fuck! He knows? This is…this can’t be happening to me.”

“Hey, hey, breathe. Come on, it’s not so bad. He doesn't _know_ know. He thinks he knows some stuff, and made some scarily accurate guesses but he's promised not to say anything to anyone and I trust him.”

Malfoy glared at him disbelievingly. “He’s a Slytherin, for fuck’s sake Potter. The second an opportunity presents itself whereby he can turn that information to his advantage then he’s going to take it without a second's thought to any Hufflepuffian promises the pair of you made.”

Harry almost revealed what he knew about Malfoy and Blaise’s shared past, but luckily he stopped himself; it wouldn’t exactly support his argument that Blaise could keep his mouth shut if Malfoy found out exactly what Blaise had told him. Maybe Malfoy had a point… But, no. Blaise would never do anything malicious, surely. 

“Don’t worry about it. Blaise has been nothing but supportive of me while I work my shit out so he’s not going to spread gossip about us. And he is ridiculously protective of you, like, scarily protective, so if you won’t talk to me about what’s keeping you up at night, then at least talk to him.”

All the colour had drained from Malfoy’s face and he just stared, unblinking, at the floor. His fingers gripped his thighs so hard, the knuckles were turning white. “I think you should go. I…I can’t deal with this right now.”

Harry briefly contemplated standing his ground and trying to press further, but in the end, he decided against it. “Okay. Night, Malfoy.” He pulled open the door and paused just before stepping through. “Just so you know, I’ll be there tonight, and every other night, if you ever decide you want to hang out again.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, so Harry pulled the door shut behind him and went hide in his room. It was still early enough that he could finish all his homework, but he rather thought the bottle of firewhiskey under Blaise’s bed was a more tempting prospect right now.

——

Much to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy was curled up in his usual position against the window when he wandered down to the common room that night. His skin was still clammy and his heart still raced from the nightmare that had torn him from his sleep, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face upon seeing that platinum blond hair peeking over the top of a blanket. 

“You came,” he said softly, worried that if he spoke too loudly, Malfoy would spook and skitter off back to his room.

The blond lowered his blanket slightly and smiled. “It was either this or lay in bed listening to Neville snore. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

Harry chuckled. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but to his ears, it sounded a lot like a promise that he was happy to continue their strange nighttime friendship. He crossed the room to the window and rather than sit opposite Malfoy, as had been his habit before the holidays, he cautiously lowered himself onto the cushions beside Malfoy. As soon as Harry had settled himself and finished fidgeting, Malfoy lifted one side of the blanket and offered it to Harry. When he gratefully accepted, Malfoy wrapped both himself and the blanket around Harry, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. A full body shudder passed through Harry and he sighed contentedly; it felt like a missing piece had been slotted back into place having Malfoy back at his side. He wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Perhaps he could cope with being ignored during the day if he got to have this at night.

———

As it turned out, nightly cuddles and occasional chaste kisses were not enough to soothe Harry’s raging libido. It was torture being so close to Malfoy, and yet be unable to do anything. It wasn’t even that Malfoy wasn’t into it; his body was clearly eager, but his internalised homophobia combined with the fear of getting caught was too much for him. They would start kissing, and groping, and grinding against each other, then Malfoy would abruptly call everything to a halt. Harry would never force him into doing something he wasn’t one hundred percent into, but it was very frustrating nonetheless, especially knowing what he was missing out on. To compound their problems, with the increased security measures, there was no way of getting any real privacy. No one could leave the school grounds without both parental and faculty consent, and on top of that, staff and prefects had increased patrols after dark, meaning that finding a quiet corner or empty classroom was too risky. Malfoy had baulked at Harry’s suggestion that they use his invisibility cloak to sneak down to the lake— apparently, it was unbecoming to rut in the great outdoors like animals, but that sounded like a very flimsy excuse to Harry. He quite liked the idea of ‘getting back to nature’, although perhaps not in January in Scotland...

Malfoy continued to spend his days barely noticing Harry, then spent his nights pressed into Harry’s side, all the while Harry wracked his brains to come up with a solution to their lack of privacy, and worked through his frustrations with an increasing number of showers per day. To make matters worse, Malfoy’s popularity among the female population of Hogwarts continued to soar for some inexplicable reason, which only heightened Harry’s sense of urgency; surely it was just a matter of time before Malfoy succumbed to the charms of the fairer sex— after all, he was still in denial about his own sexuality, and what if he was bi? It would be so much easier for him to get his jollies from one of the many willing girls rather than Harry.

In the end, the solution to Harry’s problems came from where it always did: Hermione. Despite seemingly being okay and managing not to say anything offensive, Ron still found an excuse to be elsewhere whenever ‘the gay thing’ (as he called it) came up so Hermione had taken to studying with Harry on her own on occasion. It was blatantly an excuse for her to gossip with him about cute boys and try to wheedle out information about his ‘mystery boyfriend’, but he appreciated it all the same. He may not have explicitly asked them to keep his news to themselves, but as far as he knew they’d not spread it around to anyone so the only people he felt he could really be himself with were Hermione, Blaise, and Malfoy, and he loved her for giving him those opportunities. It was during one of their study/gossip sessions that Hermione launched into a rant about the restrictive nature of the new security measures.

“I mean, it’s just ridiculous. They go through all this effort to make us ‘safe’ and practically keep us prisoner within the school, but then they completely overlook all the secret passageways, several of which go all the way into Hogsmeade!”

That peaked Harry’s attention, and he stopped doodling on his notebook to give her his undivided attention. “What?”

“Well, obviously, a lot of them are impassable, but that’s beside the point. Anyone could easily shift a few rocks and waltz straight into the school.”

“Um, surely it can’t be that easy? Even if someone cleared a way through, there must be some sort of magical barrier or something?”

“Yes it is, and no there isn’t. I’ve tested it myself. You remember the passageway to the Shrieking Shack? Absolutely clear. Of course, you’d need to know how to deactivate the Whomping Willow, and why on earth anybody would be sniffing around that decrepit old shack long enough to find that trap door, I have no idea, but one could, in theory, use that passage to go all the way to Hogsmeade from the school and vice versa.”

“Interesting…” Harry’s mind started working overdrive, a plan quickly emerging. “…No one actually knows how to get past the whomping willow though, do they?”

“Aside from you, me, Ron… I think everyone else who knew has passed away.” She carefully didn’t mention anyone in particular, but he could hear Sirius’, Remus’, Dumbledore’s, and Snape’s names as if she’d shouted them in his ear. “I doubt anyone but us, and maybe George, even knows about the passage. Why else would they have left such a gaping hole in the defences? Ridiculous.”

Harry tuned her out as he began to firm up the details of his plan. It was perfect! There was absolutely nothing that could go wrong. He grinned to himself, the excitement making him feel giddy, and earned himself a perplexed look from Hermione. He pushed his plan to one side for the time being—it wasn't like he could do anything about it until later, so until then, he’d give his wonderful best friend his full attention. Once everything was worked out, he’d have to buy her an extra thick textbook or something to say thank you.

 

———

Harry had to restrain himself from running the short distance from his room to the common room that night. He couldn’t wait to tell Malfoy about his plan. It was slightly earlier than he usually arrived, and there was always the chance that Malfoy hadn’t been roused from sleep that night...but no, there he was, perfect as always, even in his sleep-rumpled PJs. Malfoy stared expectantly at him as he approached, clearly sensing that something was in the air.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” A broad grin that Harry had absolutely no control of took over his face as he regarded the blond before him.

“What? Why are you grinning like that? Is there something on my face?” Malfoy worriedly brought his hands to his head and attempted to right whatever was wrong with his appearance.

Harry chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. You’re as beautiful as ever—” he didn’t miss the blush that blossomed attractively across Malfoy’s cheeks as he spoke, and the tingly feeling it caused added to the jumble of excited butterflies in his stomach “—I’ve got something to tell you and I really, _really_ , hope you’ll like it.”

Malfoy settled back into his cushions and gazed up passively at Harry, though there was a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. “Well, go on then.” He drawled.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Malfoy, gripping a cushion in his lap. Now that it was time for the big reveal, his excitement had morphed into nerves and he could feel a cold sweat prickling his skin. It hadn't occurred to him before now that Malfoy might reject his plan— he’d just got so swept up in the thrill of it —but now, sitting opposite the boy, he finally realised how ridiculous he’d been. Why on earth would Malfoy want to creep through a dirty, cobweb-filled tunnel for a secret date in a decrepit shack? Oh well, in for a sickle… he thought, summoning all his reserves of Gryffindor courage. “Okay, so you know how you’ve been worried about someone finding out about us…”

As Harry walked Malfoy through the details of his plan, he watched the other boy closely for any kind of reaction, but he was impossible to read. His mask was firmly in place and Harry had no idea which way he’d fall. He hurried through his description and then awaited Malfoy’s verdict, clinging to the cushion in his lap with sweaty palms and hugging it against he chest. He peered hopefully up at Malfoy through his fringe.

“So let me get this straight, you want us to sneak out of the castle after dark, somehow avoid mutilation by that rabid tree, crawl through an abandoned tunnel full of who knows what, and then have a picnic in a haunted shack that’s been largely torn apart by a werewolf?”

“When you put it like that…” Harry said slowly, disappointment seeping through his veins. He shouldn’t have been surprised - of course Malfoy was rejecting him. Anyone else would have taken the hint by now, but no, Harry kept coming back for more punishment. He hazarded a look up at the blond and watched a smirk steadily creep across his lips, his eyes glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

Eventually, Malfoy spoke. “Would I get to use the cloak?”

Harry shook his head, momentarily confused by the question. “Er, yeah? I guess? People expect me to go wandering off by myself at all hours so it makes sense if you wear it.”

“Excellent! Let’s do it! I can’t wait to see this secret passageway. Why am I only now hearing about it?” For a split second, Harry wondered at the wisdom in giving a person with a history of letting dark wizards into the school information about a secret, unguarded entrance, but he quickly threw that thought away.

“Okay, this Friday, then? That gives us time to prepare.”

——

The next few days dragged by and Harry couldn’t concentrate on anything, but finally, the big night arrived. Harry had been absolutely useless all day, unable to focus on anything, though when his inattention almost earned him a Friday night detention he made a concerted effort to at least look like he was concentrating in class. Every time he caught Malfoy’s eye, a little shiver of excitement rippled down his spine, and judging by the redness of Malfoy’s cheeks, and the speed at which he averted his eyes, Harry wasn’t the only eager one.

Hermione had been throwing him concerned looks all day, so when it came to excusing himself from the board game tournament he’d been roped into that evening, she didn’t even question him. Instead, she gave him a hug and said she hoped the walk would help him lay to rest whatever had been troubling him all day. Harry almost felt guilty allowing her to continue being concerned about him, but then an image of Malfoy wrecked and panting beneath him flashed through his mind and all worries about Hermione were flushed away. He thanked her distractedly and headed out of the common room, his body practically vibrating in anticipation.

—————-

Harry dashed through the gap in the roots beneath the Whomping Willow and came to a stop a couple of metres into the tunnel, his breath coming hard and fast, and his heart pounding in his chest. A few moments later a rustle of leaves, a muffled thud, and a huffed “bollocks!” alerted him that his companion had successfully followed him. Malfoy whipped the cloak off of his head, revealing that he was sat on his arse just inside the tunnel entrance. He gazed about himself, his hair ruffled from the cloak and a look of wonderment on his face.

“Fuck me,” he exclaimed breathily. “Are you telling me that this tunnel has been here the whole fucking time?”

Harry grinned and held out a hand to help the other boy up. “Yeah, my Dad and his friends used to use it quite a bit.”

Malfoy dusted off his legs and dragged his fingers through his hair, tidying up his appearance, though his eyes still scanned the tunnel. “Fuck. And it goes all the way into Hogsmeade?”

“Yeah, well, to the Shrieking Shack. It’s all boarded up from the outside so the only way in or out is this tunnel.”

“Perfect.” Malfoy turned to him and smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye that made Harry’s knees feel weak. “Well, what are we waiting for. Lead on, Potter!”

Harry laughed, grabbed Malfoy’s hand, and lead him deeper into the tunnel, lighting the way with his wand. He felt Malfoy adjust his hand so their fingers were interlinked and his excitement grew. He looked over his shoulder to grin at the other boy and was rewarded with a delighted smile in return. He loved this version of Malfoy; the playful one that only emerged when the pair of them were alone. He wished that Malfoy was confident enough in himself to be like this all the time, but at the same time, it felt rather special that Harry alone got to experience it and he liked not having to share.

After about twenty minutes, the pair emerged from the trapdoor onto the ground floor of the shack. Malfoy didn’t bother to disguise his grimace as he took in the dirty and battered room. His face paled when he spotted the stains that looked suspiciously like blood on the wooden floor.

“This had better be worth it,” he ground out.

“Come on, let's go upstairs,” Harry said, with as much cheer as he could muster. To be honest, he’d forgotten just how decrepit the shack was, but he was convinced he’d be able to make Malfoy disregard his surroundings before too long. He turned to go up the stairs, loosening his grip on Malfoy’s hand so they could go up in single file, but Malfoy just gripped his hand more tightly. Harry turned back to face him. “Hey, it’s going to be great, alright? We’ve got blankets, food and whiskey, and we’ve got our wands so we can easily clean the place up a bit and transfigure some of the broken furniture into cushions or whatever.”

Malfoy looked carefully about him with renewed perspective and Harry watched as some of his previous excitement seeped back in. He looked back at Harry and nodded his approval, gesturing that he should lead them upstairs. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding and squeezed Malfoy’s hand gently. It would be okay, he thought to himself. Better than okay. They had all night to themselves with no chance of interruptions and it was going to be perfect.

It took them about half an hour of scourgifying every visible surface on the upper floor before Malfoy was happy to lay out the blanket. True to his word, Harry transfigured some of the broken furniture into a selection of cushions (which Malfoy then transfigured into more stylish cushions), and they moved the rest of the broken pieces into an out-of-the-way corner. Malfoy then layered several cushioning and warming charms on the floor, before pausing to admire their work. 

“You know, it doesn’t look half bad, considering what we had to work with. If we got some material to drape on the walls, and looked up a few carpentry spells to fix the floor and ceiling, this place might almost look habitable.”

Harry flopped onto the blanket and grabbed the basket of food they’d brought. “Shut up and sit down Malfoy. I came here to eat, drink, and suck you off, not talk about interior design.”

Malfoy’s mouth fell open in outrage and he was momentarily rendered speechless (Harry made a note to remember this tactic in the future), but then he blushed deeply and lowered himself gracefully to the floor, carefully avoiding Harry’s amused gaze. “Fine, Potter,” he huffed. “Have it your way.” Their knees touched as Malfoy leaned across him to grab a bottle of butterbeer and neither moved to increase the distance as they settled down to eat.

They ate in relative silence, although there was nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it. Harry’s stomach was a swirling mess of butterflies in anticipation of the night’s activities, but he was still able to put away a surprising amount of food. He snuck furtive glances at Malfoy every so often and was pleased to catch Malfoy doing the same, their cheeks reddening every time green met grey, and stirring up his internal butterflies into a frenzy.

After they’d demolished the contents of the picnic basket, Harry stretched himself out languorously amongst the cushions, a lazy smile creeping across his face as he gazed up at the rigid set of his occasional lover. Malfoy looked so out of place, even with all the effort they’d put into cleaning up their surroundings. His body screamed to be surrounded by silks and furs, plush furniture and expensive materials, refinement and beauty. He was like a rare flower uprooted from a well-tended greenhouse, then left to languish, forgotten, in a wasteland. 

Malfoy peered down at Harry and arched an eyebrow with a precision and ease that could only have come from generations of selective breeding. “I believe there was some talk of sucking?” He asked as if speaking about something as banal the weather. Harry grinned and launched himself off the floor, pushing Malfoy onto his back and straddling his now-prone form in one fluid movement. 

“Yes, I believe there was. Never let it be said that Harry Potter leaves his… _friends_ …wanting.” 

“You absolute oaf!” Malfoy shrieked, squirming as Harry trailed kisses along his jawline and down his neck to that ticklish area below his ear that always had him shivering with delight.

Harry fumbled with the buttons on Malfoy’s shirt, desperate to free more skin so he could elicit further soft moans, but his fingers at once felt too big, too clumsy, too sluggish for purpose. “Who the fuck wears their school uniform on a date,” he grumbled, before latching onto the nipple that was at long last exposed.

“A date? Is that what this was?” Malfoy somehow managed to sound like a petulant child despite writhing under Harry as he licked and sucked and nipped his way down Malfoy’s chest. 

Harry huffed a laugh into the V of his hips as he laved his way ever closer to his goal. “I can stop anytime you want, Ferret. Just say the word.”

“Don’t you dare, you little shit,” he bit back. “Anyway, I was hardly going to risk any of my own clothes on a jolly through a secret passageway to spend the evening in an abandoned hut.”

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“Make me.”

Harry grinned and yanked Malfoy’s trousers and pants down around his thighs, finally exposing his beautiful, dark pink erection to the cool air of the shack. Harry’s mouth watered in anticipation and after taking the briefest of moments to appreciate the sight before him, he bent down to nuzzle in the coarse blond nest of hair at its base, drinking in the musky aroma that made his head spin. Malfoy groaned and panted beneath him, his body quivering with frustration as he tried to direct Harry’s attention to where he craved it the most. 

A noise, like old, damp wood splitting and breaking apart suddenly caught Harry’s attention and he sprung up from Malfoy’s groin, immediately on high alert. 

“What? What is it? Don’t you dare stop now, you intolerable little fuck weasel.”

“Sorry, sorry. Thought I heard something, but it must have been the wind or something.”

Harry bent back over, guiding Malfoy into his mouth with one hand and palming himself with the other. He shuddered as Malfoy tugged at his hair, and scraped his nails along Harry’s scalp.

That sound. There it was again, only louder, more insistent. And were those voices?

“What the fuck, Potter!” Malfoy hissed, scrambling to his feet and desperately trying to pull his trousers up while at the same time yanking his shirt closed. “I thought you said this place was abandoned! No one can get in, you said. Well guess what, someone’s fucking coming in!” He sounded on the verge of panic.

Harry muttered apologies as he simultaneously tried to right his own clothes and tidy up the evidence of their presence in the shack. But then the unmistakable sound of a heavy, wooden door being inched open carried up the stairs and they both stilled, eyes locked together, twin expressions of horror on their faces.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco's night doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less fluff, a little more angst this time. As per usual, this is unbeta'd, so apologies for any typos!   
> Thank you for reading-you're all wonderful.

Harry hastily extinguished the lamp they’d brought, plunging them into darkness. He tilted his head and closed his eyes while he tried to make sense of what he could hear. The pained sound of old, damp wood being forced to move against its will; the soft thud of heavy boots on dusty floorboards; the rustle of material; the low rumble of voices. It sounded like several people were quietly breaking into the shack, trying not attract any attention, but that couldn’t be right. The door was just for show—it wasn’t even functional, or at least it wasn’t supposed to be—and the same was true of the windows. Besides which, everyone thought the shack was haunted so no one ever attempted to access it. He stilled his breath and tried to figure out how many individuals there were, but it was difficult to tell; there were at least two, but it could be as many as five or six. The voices sounded rough with age; these clearly weren’t Hogwarts students. Could it be locals out for a bit of ghost-hunting? Harry strained to hear what was being said, but specific words were difficult to make out over the shuffling, rustling, and muffled thudding of people industriously moving about downstairs. Harry watched, mesmerized, as the light from their lamps or wands filtered through the gaps in the floor and caused shadows to dance and waver across the walls. As the activity below quietened, the voices became more distinct.

" I can’t believe we never thought of this place before.”

“Are you sure it’s not haunted?”

“When I were at school here, they said not even the ghosts up at the castle would dare set foot in this place.”

“If even ghosts are scared, there must be something really horrible here…”

"Yeah, I mean, what are ghosts scared of?"

“Shut up, the lot of you. There is absolutely nothing here. It’s probably some old tale told to keep nosy students and villagers out. But the fact that they’re all gullible enough to believe it works in our favour.” This last voice sounded female and she was clearly in charge.

Harry had heard enough now to suspect that these were no simple ghost-hunters or thrill-seekers. No one who needed to meet secretly in the dark in an abandoned shack could be up to any good… Apart from him and Malfoy of course. He glanced over at the blond to see if he’d come to the same conclusions, but even in the meagre light that filtered upstairs, he could see that Malfoy was terrified. He was sat rigidly, knees hugged to his chest, eyes glassy and staring at nothing in particular, his lips pressed into a thin line. Harry longed to crawl over, pull Malfoy into his arms, and reassure him that everything would be okay, that he’d protect him from whatever danger he’d landed them in, but he wasn’t sure his touch would be welcomed right now.

A clanging sound rang out through the shack as something large, heavy, and metal was moved about the floor below them, followed by the sound of boxes being unpacked and bulky objects being shifted about the floor. Harry listened for a short while longer, trying to determine what it was they were doing down there from sound alone, but it was no use, he needed to get closer, maybe sneak a look down the stairs. If it turned out that they were criminals, the Aurors would need to know as many details as he could tell them, and right now that wasn’t a lot.

Carefully, and very aware that even the slightest noise could alert those below of their presence, Harry crept towards Malfoy, who was still frozen in a trance-like state of terror.

“We should get closer to the top of the stairs,” Harry whispered in Malfoy’s ear, close enough that fine, blond hairs tickled Harry’s lips.

Malfoy startled at the sound of Harry’s voice, and probably at his proximity too. “Are you out of your mind?” He hissed back after regaining a small amount of composure. “What we _should_ do is get the fuck out of here.”

“No, we have to find out what they’re doing. What if someone gets hurt and we could have stopped it from happening?” 

“What if _we_ get hurt! There’s only two of us, and we’re barely more than kids.”

“I was younger than this when I defeated Voldemort,” Harry said, inwardly cringing when he heard how childish he sounded. 

Malfoy shot him a withering glare. “Yes, but you had the help of your little Gryffindor pals. Here, you’ve just got me, and I don’t intend on running headlong into danger anytime soon. We should apparate the fuck away from here and then you can go round up your crime-fighting gang and drag _them_ into this mess.”

“We can’t apparate—they’d hear us and know someone was here. And where would we apparate to? The only way back to the school is through the trapdoor down there. So, since we’re stuck here we might as well listen in. Maybe we can find out what they’re up to, then we can tell the Aurors where to catch them when we get out of here.”

“ _If_ we get out of here.” Malfoy muttered, followed by something largely unintelligible, but which very clearly contained the words ‘stupid Potter’. He exhaled quietly and levelled Harry with a resigned glare. “Fine. But I hate you. You do realise that, don’t you? It’s a visceral thing. It quite literally consumes me. And just so you know, I’m going to haunt the ever-loving fuck out of you when these miscreants disembowel me for spying on them.”

Harry rolled his eyes and crept towards the top of the stairs. If he got the angle just right, he could probably remain hidden in the shadows, while still being able to catch a glimpse of what was happening below them. He felt something brush against his ankle and looked over his shoulder to see Malfoy, his hair glowing softly in the light from the stairway, moving to settle beside him at the top of the stairs. 

“Stay behind me.” He hissed.

“I’m not some damsel that needs protecting,” he hissed back.

“No, but your hair and skin are pale ridiculously pale and you’re glowing like a torch. So get behind me and maybe we won’t get caught.”

Malfoy frowned at his tone, but for once had the good sense not argue, so Harry turned his attention to what was happening below them. Merlin, what he wouldn’t do for a set of extendable ears right now. He crouched down and slowly inched closer to the top step. A sudden swish of black fabric at the bottom of the stairs caught his eye as the robe’s owner moved across the room just out of sight. He adjusted his position so he was lower and closer to the wall. He could make out at least four people dressed in dark, hooded robes. One person was pouring over a book, a lamp flickering beside them. Two more people were stood to one side, bent over a makeshift table, preparing what looked like potion ingredients. A fourth person was crouched in front of a large black cauldron that had been hung from a tripod above a firepit in the centre of the room, their back to Harry as they prodded the flames with their wand. Snatches of mundane conversation floated up to Harry’s ears—grumbling about the weather, kids, a bum knee—no great clues as to who they were or what they were doing. Were they Death Eaters? If they were, then what were they doing in Hogsmeade? Harry felt the first wisps of panic prickling at the edges of his mind, and if it hadn’t been for the warm presence of Malfoy at his back, he might have given up and just apparated as far away as he could manage. He didn’t want to deal with Death Eaters again. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair—he just wanted one year to enjoy being young before being thrust into the adult world. His chest started to tighten and he tried to concentrate on sucking in breath after breath, willing his body to relax and fight the panic fogging the edges of his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and vainly tried to tune back into the conversations going on downstairs, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears and his breath wheezing in his chest. This couldn’t be how it ended; he wasn’t going to be murdered by some wannabe Death Eaters in a filthy shack.

Malfoy’s warm, steady hand on his shoulder snapped him back into the room, and as quickly as it had appeared, he felt the panic drain away, his breaths becoming easier and his pulse rate slowing. He spun round to face the blond, who flinched at the wild look in his eyes. 

Harry took a few breaths to calm himself down further before responding. How was Malfoy all of a sudden the one with his shit together? “What?” He huffed quietly.

“Do you think it’s these ‘vigilante’ people McGonagall was on about?” Malfoy whispered, the warmth of his words tickling across his Harry’s cheek. Harry could smell the sweet spiciness of apple and cinnamon on his breath from the tart they’d shared not even half an hour ago.

A little more of his fear seeped away as Malfoy’s words sunk in. The vigilante—yes, that made sense. More sense than a rogue group of Death Eaters plotting their next move right outside Hogwarts. “Maybe,” Harry replied hopefully. Time to get his head back in the game, he thought, shaking his head to clear the last remnants of panic. His hands still trembled slightly, but he felt more focused. The Aurors would need as much information as he and Malfoy could provide, so he couldn’t afford to turn into a gibbering wreck. “It looks like they’re brewing a potion. Can you tell what it is from the ingredients?” He asked, turning to look at Malfoy.

“Perhaps. Just a sec, I can’t see properly.” Leaning his weight on the hand that was still resting on Harry’s shoulder, Malfoy craned forwards to get a better look. The wooden floor under Harry’s knees was hard and unforgiving, and a raised lump pressed uncomfortably into one leg with the additional weight leant on his shoulder. He shifted slightly to reduce the pressure and then watched with horror as Malfoy lost his balance and started to topple forwards. Shit! He threw his weight sideways and hooked an arm around Malfoy’s waist to drag him away from the edge. For a horrible moment they balanced on the brink, neither falling forwards nor to the side, but just as it seemed Malfoy’s momentum would carry them both forwards to tumble down the stairs, they fell in a tangle of limbs to one side of the stairway. They froze, and Harry silently prayed that their fall hadn't been noisy enough to draw notice from those below them. Of course they wouldn't be that lucky...

“Did you hear that?”

“You worried about ghosts again, Mikey?”

“Shut it. I’m not the one that near pissed ‘is pants at a shadow earlier.”

“Fuck you, there was definitely something there."

“For Merlin’s sake, you’re worse than children. Mikey, take the lamp and go check upstairs.”

During the brief exchange, Harry and Malfoy scurried into a corner of the room as quickly and as quietly as they could and then threw the invisibility cloak over themselves. The cloak hadn’t been designed to cover two almost-full-grown wizards, so it was a very cozy fit, but they crouched down to avoid showing off any ankle, and Malfoy, being the larger of the two of them, positioned himself at the rear, curled over Harry, his arms encircling Harry’s chest, hugging them tightly together. They were so close, Harry could feel Malfoy trembling, could feel his shaky breath on his cheek, could feel his heart racing at a speed that matched his own. Heavy footsteps thudded up the rickety staircase, every step increasing Harry’s sense of dread. The shadows danced and leapt about the wall as the man, Mikey (Harry filed that name away to be repeated to the Aurors if—no, when—they escaped), ascended the staircase and drew closer. Harry held his breath as first the cowl, then the rest of the robed figure was slowly revealed, one step at a time. He strained his eyes to try and get a glimpse of the man’s face, and he could just about make out a crooked-toothed grin nestled in a closely trimmed nest of dark bristles, but the rest of the face was obscured by the low-hanging hood. The crooked-toothed man held a lamp out in front of him with one hand and wielded his wand in the other as he searched the upper floor. He swung the lamp around, chasing the shadows away from darkened corners one at a time until his eyes lit upon the blanket and he chuckled under his breath. It was a dirty, gravelly sound and Harry felt unclean just hearing it.

“Nothin’ here but a blanket and some froofy cushions,” the man called down to his associates. “Hogwarts kids probably use this place for shagging or getting high, or something.” He kicked a couple of the cushions to one side, then spat on the blanket and chuckled again. Harry shuddered at the filthy sound; it trickled down his spine like the glob of spit that glimmered dully only feet away from where he and Malfoy cowered. Behind him, he Malfoy shuddered, his disgust evident. The man ground his foot down on the small puddle of spit he’d left, then stomped down the stairs, muttering about horny teenagers as he went. 

Harry sagged in relief, finally able to breathe a bit more freely, and shook out his wand arm. His whole body felt sore from their awkward tumble and narrow escape, but nothing ached as badly as his wand arm. He’d gripped his wand so tightly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fully open his hand again. Malfoy loosened his hold on Harry slightly, but still kept him pressed against his chest, not that Harry minded; Malfoy could hug him as much as he liked as far as Harry was concerned. His mood felt light, buoyant, all of a sudden—they’d survived! So long as they stayed perfectly quiet, there was a good chance they’d survive the rest of the night too, then they could find an Auror first thing in the morning and get these people arrested. Surely McGonagall would overlook the truancy if it lead to the capture of dangerous criminals?

“We need to get out of here now. That was too close. I don’t care where we go, but we need to apparate.” Malfoy hissed in his ear, his arm tightening fractionally around Harry.

Harry turned as much as he was able to in Malfoy’s grasp to get a better look at his face. How could Malfoy even consider running? “What? No! Are you crazy? We have to find out what they’re planning.”

“But we almost got caught! What if they decide to come up here again?”

“Then we’ll just hide here again. But we can’t leave. If we apparate, they’ll know someone was here and they might change their plans. If someone gets hurt because we ran, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“What about if I get hurt because we didn’t run? And why do you care anyway? If they are these vigilante people, then they’re only after dark wizards and ex-Death Eaters anyway. You should be happy - your lot like offing dark wizards.”

Harry levelled a glare at Malfoy. “Fine. Run. Act like the coward everyone thinks you are. But I’m staying here.”

Malfoy stiffened at the insult, his nostrils flaring, and Harry worried momentarily that he’d pushed him too far. “I can’t leave you here on your own,” Malfoy snapped, “what if something happens? I’ll get done for sure if you wind up dead.” His voice trembled and Harry kicked himself for being so insensitive. Malfoy was terrified; and who could blame him for wanting to run? Any sensible person would take that option. It was only idiots like Harry that found themselves constantly running towards danger instead of away from it.

Harry shrugged and hoped it appeared suitably indifferent. He wanted Malfoy to stay, desperately, but he wouldn’t force him or guilt him into it. “Do whatever you think is best,” he whispered before whipping the invisibility cloak off of Malfoy, settling it over his shoulders, and crawling back towards the top of the stairs. 

He settled into position, keeping an ear out for the crack that would signify Malfoy’s departure, but it never came. Then, after a few tense moments, Harry felt Malfoy sneak up behind. He tried not to feel too smug.

——

Harry was sure his arse had fused to the floor. He didn’t know how long they’d been trapped in the shack, but it had surely been hours. They’d both long ago given up crouching at the top of the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Instead, they sat side by side, leaning against the wall with the cloak loosely draped over them. Anyone happening upon them would probably be quite alarmed buy the pair of disembodied faces floating at the top of the stairs. Harry kept half an ear out for any changes to the inane chatter and bubbling potion sounds that filtered upstairs, but he was beyond caring at this point. His eyelids felt heavy and his body screamed for sleep. Were it not for the supremely uncomfortable position he was sat in, he knew he’d have fallen asleep long before now. He stretched his shoulders out as best he could without disturbing the cloak too much and marked a cross on the notepad that sat between them on the floor, winning his …23rd? 24th?…game of naughts and crosses. Malfoy had eventually produced the notepad and pencil from his bag after they’d been sat in tense silence for at least an hour (Harry didn’t question why he’d felt the need to bring a notebook on a date, but he made a mental note to quiz Malfoy about it at time when there was less peril involved). They’d initially used the notepad to write down observations and any information they thought would be important, but it had soon devolved into a mixture of naughts and crosses and increasingly graphic doodles.

A sudden change to the noises that had been the soundtrack to their night so far caught Harry’s attention and he nudged Malfoy in the ribs to check he’d noticed it too. Wordlessly, they agreed to crawl closer to the top of the stairs and saw that one of the robed wizards was carefully ladling the potion into glass vials, while a second and third packed the vials into a small crate. Harry glanced over at Malfoy and saw his relief reflected in the other boy’s face. This had to be it; the end was in sight! He itched to get close enough to see if the vials were labelled—Malfoy had been unable to guess the potion based on the few ingredients he glimpsed, though judging by the smell that had wafted upstairs in eye-wateringly pungent waves, it was nothing good. Considering how long they’d spent spying on these people, they had actually gained very little useful information, not that Harry would ever admit this to Malfoy. There was the large, gruff, guy called Mikey, another guy called Sid, someone of indeterminate gender who stayed mostly silent and was called Gil, and a female they only ever referred to as ‘Boss’, but they hadn’t properly seen anyone’s faces, and no one had mentioned what the potion was for or when they might use it. 

“That’s the last of them,” said one of the men. “Reckon it’s still early enough for a pint?”

“It’s always early enough for a pint! My Daisy’s staying with ‘er mam for a few days, so we can have a few congratulatory bevvies at mine since the pubs likely shut.”

“Here you go, lads,” cut in the boss-witch. There was the unmistakable sound of beer bottles being uncapped and clinked together, a sound Harry was very familiar with. “For your hard work this evening.”

There was a great deal of back-slapping and general merriment before the wizards eventually settled down and chatted amiably amongst each other about a recent Quidditch match while they cleared up the evidence of their night’s work. It wasn’t long before, from Harry’s vantage point at least, it was as if they’d never been there. He finally allowed himself to relax for the first time that evening; the end truly was in sight. He and Malfoy would probably be tucked up in their beds within the hour, then he could go to McGonagall in the morning and explain everything. It hadn’t exactly been the evening he’d planned, but at least it hadn’t been a complete waste. It had even been exciting, in an odd way, like he and Malfoy were Aurors on a stakeout—although perhaps Malfoy would see it a bit differently…

Suddenly there was a choking, rasping sound, and a thud that sounded an awful lot like a heavy body hitting a rotten, wooden floor, closely followed by another. Harry tensed, the relief he’d been feeling at their ordeal almost coming to an end vanishing in a split second.

“Sid? Mikey? What the fuck? What did you do to them?” Yelled one of the wizards—Gil probably, if indeed it had been Sid and Mikey’s heavy bodies thudding onto the floor.

“You didn’t expect me to let you go without least testing the goods, did you?” Replied the woman, her voice syrupy and confident.

“Why you—” Gil never got to finish what they were saying because a green flash filled the shack in the same instant that Harry heard those two words he had hoped never to hear spoken again, quickly followed by another meaty thud. He gasped in shock unable to prevent the sound from escaping, but it was Malfoy’s yelp that carried the furthest, despite him trying to stifle it with a hand hastily slapped across his mouth.

He and Malfoy stared at each other, motionless, neither even drawing a breath for fear of attracting further notice. There was no noise, no movement from downstairs, but Harry didn’t think that was a good thing. Silently, he mouthed _“Apparate? Side-along?”_ at Malfoy, who nodded, eyes wide and nostrils flared. He held out his arm and Harry gripped it tightly, concentrating on the alleyway beside the Hogshead. He felt the unpleasant twisting sensation in his navel and prepared for the yanking motion…but it never happened. He tried again, squeezing his eyes shut to help focus and….nothing. He looked at Malfoy, who was staring at him with confusion and irritation etched across his face.

“What’s wrong?” He mouthed, somehow managing to fill even his voiceless words with derision and scorn.

Harry shook his head and shrugged. “Anti-apparition ward?” He mouthed back. 

Malfoy’s reply was cut off by the sound of something scuffing across the dusty floor below them and they both froze.

“Do I have guests?" The voice, cool and calm, cut through the silence and turned Harry's blood to ice. He held his breath and tried to remain as still as possible. His heart was racing so fast he was feeling lightheaded and he was sure she'd be able to hear the blood thundering through his body from downstairs. "Is there a naughty little schoolboy with his pretty little girlfriend hiding away upstairs? Didn't your mothers ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop on someone's private business? Come out here and introduce yourselves. I won't bite.” Her soft chuckle tore through Harry like broken glass in his veins and it took everything he had not to gasp. 

The scuffing sound drew closer. She was moving towards the stairs. Her footsteps were slow and sure; she knew they were there and that they were trapped, she had no reason to rush.

Before Harry could react, Malfoy grabbed his hand and dragged him, stumbling across the floor, back to the corner where they had hidden before. Malfoy’s eyes were wild and his breathing ragged as he hugged Harry to his chest and adjusted the cloak around them. He had his wand grasped in one shaky hand while his eyes were pinned to the top of the stairs. In the silence that followed, all Harry could hear was his heart pounding in his chest and he could feel Malfoy trembling where their bodies pressed together. Maybe she hadn’t heard Malfoy’s yelp or their dash across the floor. Maybe she’d have a quick look for them then leave. Maybe this was all some horrifically realistic nightmare; so many of them ended with the same green flash, that had to be what this was.

“Come now, don’t hide. I won’t hurt you.” She was at the top of the stairs now, but her face was still hidden, nothing but a gaping black hole beneath her hood. “I know you’re here. Mikey may have been fooled, but as we’ve seen, he was none too bright.” She raised her wand and Harry realised with sickening clarity what was about to happen. He recognised the wand movement; saw the words form on her lips — _hominem revelio_. If she turned her head, even just a fraction, she’d see them—

Several loud cracks tore through the silence, swiftly followed by the crackle of multiple spells being fired at once. The floor of the shack vibrated under Harry’s feet and bits of plaster and wood and decades-old dead insects rained down from the ceiling and walls, covering the cloak with a layer of dust, but amazingly, the shack remained intact.

“Bollocks!” The witch hissed, before twisting around and disappearing with a sharp crack.

Malfoy shot up, his hand wrapped tightly around Harry’s wrist and started to drag him towards the stairs. 

“What are you doing?” Harry tried to yank his arm from Malfoy’s grasp, but the boy was deceptively strong. “What if it’s the Aurors?”

“Exactly! What do you think a team of Aurors is going to do when they see me surrounded by dead bodies? That’s if they don’t kill us first by collapsing this fucking shit heap on our heads.” Another loud boom ripped through the night and they both flinched as they were showered with more debris. “Stay if you want,” Malfoy hissed urgently, “but I’m fucking leaving.” He threw himself down the stairs without another look back.

Harry felt torn. Malfoy was right, the Aurors likely wouldn’t hesitate to throw him into Azkaban if they found him here, but if he was caught fleeing the scene, it would look ten times worse. And then there was McGonagall; she would probably expel him for leaving school grounds whether or not she thought he was guilty of the triple murder. Another boom; the walls quaked. Whatever that witch and her associates had done to shield the shack, it wasn’t going to hold for much longer. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, then clattered down the stairs after Malfoy.

As he dashed toward the trapdoor, his foot caught on one of the large, shadowy mounds and he went sprawling across the floor. He looked to the side, and even in the low light of a single toppled lantern, it was possible to make out the mop of tangled hair inches from his face. It took a split second for his brain to connect the dots, and as soon as it did, he had to fight the bile that rose in his throat. When he suddenly felt a hand grab his arm, it almost tipped him over the edge, and the scream that had caught in his throat broke free. He simultaneously whipped his head around and reached for his wand, prepared to blast whoever or whatever it was in the face, only to see Malfoy's face only inches from his own. His hair was hanging limply over his forehead and there was a dark smudge across one cheek from where he'd wiped a dirty sleeve across his face, and Harry had never been more relieved to see him.

“Come on, you idiot. We have to go! Now!” Harry let Malfoy pull him towards the trapdoor and they tumbled through the hatch together. Harry yanked the trapdoor shut over their heads and drew the bolt across. They barely had time to catch their breath before they heard the shack imploding above their heads. 

By unspoken agreement, they fled through the tunnel without looking back, neither stopping until they got out of reach of the Whomping Willow, and that was only so they could throw the cloak over themselves before heading into the school.

“We speak of this night to no one,” Malfoy hissed once they were back in the relative safety of the common room. “Not even Granger and the Weasel. Do you understand?” He'd swept his hair back off his face, but he was still streaked with dirt and Harry wondered whether he realised quite how filthy he was. The small part of him that even now got a thrill from winding Malfoy up (maybe not such a small part), desperately wanted to be there when he finally looked in a mirror. 

“Yeah, yeah. No one. I get it.” Harry wasn’t really in the mood for an argument about morality and civic responsibility, not with his heart still pounding in his ears and his breathing still laboured after their mad dash from the shack. He’d speak to Malfoy tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince him of the importance of telling someone what they witnessed.

“Good,” Malfoy said, before turning to slip quietly into his room with a muttered “Night, Potter.”

“Night, Malfoy,” Harry whispered as the door snicked shut in his face.

He stood and stared at the closed door for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. How the fuck had everything gone so completely tits up? He walked up the corridor to his room and slowly inched open his door. Blaise had drawn the curtains around his bed which meant he had likely cast a silencing charm, so at least Harry wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing him. He flopped down onto his bed and drew the curtains with a flick of his wand. He should probably shower or something, or at the very least get into his PJs, but he couldn’t handle doing anything quite so rational yet. His body felt like it was vibrating and his skin prickled all over, whether from physical exertion or lingering fear he had no idea, and his brain raced a mile a minute trying to sort through everything he and Malfoy had witnessed. Three people murdered, and he had done nothing to stop it. That made him an accomplice, right? Had they left anything incriminating there? Shit. This was such a mess. Hopefully, the Aurors would catch that witch before she did anything else, then maybe this would all just blow over…

———

Harry sleepily dropped into his usual place at the Gryffindor table, between Hermione and a fifth year whose name he’d forgotten, but who had chatted to him at mealtimes almost daily since the start of the year so now it was too late to ask her name again. Hermione barely glanced up from the paper to acknowledge him, and Ron was sat opposite talking animatedly with Seamus and Dean about something. The three boys glanced his way long enough to grunt their hello’s but swiftly returned to their conversation. He was too exhausted to take offence though, and to be honest, he was getting used to the distance Ron seemed to be placing between them. It still hurt, but Hermione was convinced Ron would get over his hangups soon so Harry refused to expend energy worrying about it. Ron would grow the fuck up or he wouldn’t; it wasn’t on Harry to make him or to change himself to make Ron feel better.

Free from outside distractions, like friends who actually wanted to talk to him, Harry focused on constructing his bacon and egg sandwich and pouring himself a tea, a pumpkin juice, and a water, as per his usual breakfast routine. He’d barely slept a wink after getting back to his room only a few short hours ago (hardly surprising considering the night he’d had), and he was struggling to keep his head far enough off the table to stop his hair dangling in the grease on his plate. He had planned to spend the day in bed since it was Saturday, but McGonagall had summoned the entire student body to the Great Hall so he was forced to have breakfast. He was severely regretting his decision to not ignore the summons now though. It was too noisy here and his brain was too weary to differentiate between individual voices so it was all just a huge mess of noise assaulting his ears. Breakfast on a weekend ran longer and later than on weekdays so it tended not to be as busy, but today, with McGonagall’s summons, the room was heaving. He tried not to think about why she had called the whole school to the hall: he was kind of hoping last night had been a horrifically realistic dream, but if McGonagall spoke about it in front of the whole school it would destroy his illusions. Harry glanced around the Hall and his eyes immediately latched onto Malfoy, who was hunched over the Slytherin table with a steaming mug of tea grasped between both hands. He looked incredibly dishevelled and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he looked a hell of a lot better than Harry felt. How was it fair that they’d suffered through the same ordeal, but only Harry came out looking like he’d gone several rounds with a Hippogriff?

“Please tell me you’ve seen the— Oh my God! Harry! You look awful! What’s happened?” Hermione gaped at Harry, having finally looked up from the paper long enough to look at him.

He scowled. “It’s nothing. Nightmares. Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, then turned back to his bacon and egg sandwich. He appreciated Hermione’s concern, but he could do without having to answer difficult questions at the moment. In fact, any sort of speaking, in general, felt beyond him right now. He just wanted to eat, listen to what McGonagall had to say, and then go back to bed. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he could practically see the cogs turning in her head—she desperately wanted to push for more information. Thankfully, with an exasperated shake of her head, she clearly decided not to pursue it.

“Did you see this?” She asked, carefully changing the topic and pushing a copy of the Prophet under his nose. He had half a mind to snarl and push the paper away, since she knew how much he hated that rag, but then the words splashed across the paper suddenly caught his eye—TRIPLE MURDER IN HOGSMEADE - _The Vigilante Strikes Again!_ —and his stomach clenched, the sandwich settling like lead inside him. All the noise and chatter from the hall fell into the background as he grabbed the paper from Hermione and poured over it, a white-knuckled grip on the edges. He didn’t even want to think about how the Prophet had gotten a hold of the story already. 

“Can you believe it? What if they had been looking for a way into the school? I said the Shack was a weak point, didn’t I Harry. Do you think the vigilante found them and stopped them before they found the passageway? Harry?”

Hermione’s questions washed over him and he grunted noncommittally at her without really paying any attention to her words. The Prophet was laying the blame at the feet of this ‘vigilante’ character, and even appeared to be portraying them as some sort of hero of the people - doling out justice on the dark wizards that the Aurors failed to catch. But that woman last night was no one who should be celebrated. Whether or not she was the vigilante, she was clearly dangerous and unhinged and needed to be stopped. He pushed back from the table, determined to march up to Malfoy and insist they speak up about what they witnessed, regardless of what people might assume about their presence in the shack, but McGonagall’s voice calling for quiet rung out through the Great Hall and stopped him in his tracks. Hermione grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back down into his seat with a cautioning glare. 

“As you’ve no doubt been made aware by the main story in the Prophet this morning, late last night there was an…incident…in Hogsmeade. A very serious incident. In response to this, there will now be an increased Auror presence both in Hogsmeade and here at Hogwarts. I must once again remind you that the safest place for you to be right now is on the school grounds—” Harry heard Hermione’s unimpressed snort and bit back a smile “—so please do not panic. The investigation is being coordinated by Senior Investigating Officer Beaumont, who would like to say a few words.” 

Harry’s attention was immediately drawn to the Auror stood beside McGonagall. He hadn’t even noticed her before now. She was fairly short—almost a head shorter than McGonagall—and her sandy-blond hair was roughly gathered into a messy bun at her nape, the escaped wispy strands glowing like a halo around her head in the candlelight. Her face was round and open, but her eyes were sharp as she glared at the faces of the students staring up at her.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Beaumont said, before turning to address the school. Her voice was deeper than Harry had expected, given her diminutive size, and it carried easily throughout the hall without the need for a sonorus. There was a definite northern twang to her accent, softening the edges of her words “I’m Annabel Beaumont and my team and I will be spending some time in Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, and the surrounding area to investigate last night’s incident and find the person, or people, responsible. We have reason to believe that one or more of you may have significant information pertaining to this case so we will be speaking to you all individually, but please don’t be alarmed, this is just standard procedure. That being said, if anyone believes they have any information—a friend or classmate acting strangely, for example—it doesn’t matter how small or insignificant it seems, do not hesitate to approach myself, one of my team, or Headmistress McGonagall.”

The Hall was silent as everyone glanced around suspiciously at their friends. Harry could feel his cheeks heating as more than one person scrutinized him unabashedly; why did everyone immediately think of him when something bad happened? He resolutely kept his gaze on the half eaten sandwich in front of him, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Thank you Auror Beaumont,” said McGonagall. “Please continue to enjoy your weekend as usual, but speak to your prefects if you have any concerns. We will not be cowed by these petty acts of terror.”

When McGonagall sat down, it was as if a spell had been lifted and the Hall erupted with the noise of hundreds of people all talking at once. Harry felt sick. The copy of the Prophet Hermione had given him was crumpled up in one tightly clenched fist, while his other hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. Why did the Aurors want to question students? He and Malfoy must have left something at the Shack, why else would they think students were involved. But what could it have been? He wracked his brain. The blanket was just a generic thing, no identifying features. The transfiguration charms they’d used to make the cushions had worn out long before the Aurors showed up, and they’d tidied up and shrunk all the picnic items before their evening had been ruined. He looked up and tried to find Malfoy over at the Slytherin table, but there was no sign of his blond head anywhere, although, from the looks of it, half the hall had emptied out so it wasn’t that strange that he’d gone. He stood up on shaky legs, ignoring Hermione’s concerned questions and Ron’s confused look and rushed out of the Hall, relieved that for once, they let him be.

——

It didn’t take Harry long to locate Malfoy. He was sat in the tree by the lake—the secluded spot he would always retreat to when he wanted time to think—his knees pulled up to his chest and his back pressed against the trunk. Harry decided not to think too deeply about what it meant that he knew all of the blond’s hiding places. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy snapped without taking his eyes off the branch.

Harry paused. He hadn’t really thought much further ahead than finding Malfoy. “We need to talk about what happened,” he said eventually, deciding that there was no point in pussy-footing around it.

“No, you _want_ to talk about it. We don’t _need_ to do anything,” he spat.

“God, Malfoy, do you have to be such an arse? Just get down here. Please. I'm not having this conversation with a tree.”

Malfoy glared at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching from where he clenched his teeth together, and Harry thought for a moment that he was going to have to continue arguing with him sat in a tree. However, after a very tense minute or two, Malfoy reluctantly swung his legs over the trunk and dropped gracefully to the ground.

He stood facing Harry with his arms folded defensively across his chest. “Well, go on then. Talk.”

Harry sighed and mirrored Malfoy’s stance. “You heard what Auror Beaumont said earlier—they know there were students in the shack! We have to tell someone what we know. They’re going to turn the school over looking for us instead of looking for the woman who actually murdered those men. A woman who has a crate of poison and doesn’t think twice about murdering people.”

“They’ll realise no one here had nothing to do with it soon enough,” Malfoy said, his stance still defensive and closed off. “They’ve got nothing. We just need to lie low and let them chase their tails for a bit—they’ll soon get bored and go chase after the real criminal.” 

Harry couldn’t believe Malfoy was being so selfish. He wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him until he saw sense. “And what if someone gets hurt, or worse, while they’re wasting their time here?” 

“I don’t care. We are not telling anyone we were there, do you understand me? No one. How will we explain what we were doing there alone? Even if we could come up with a convincing lie, no one is going to believe it. You may be happy with people thinking you’re a fucking poof, but not me. I won’t have you dragging me down with you!”

“You’re a fucking prick, Malfoy. You care more about your own reputation than other people’s lives. This isn’t a game. People died! So what if someone finds out you’re gay?”

Malfoy looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He drew himself up and took a few steps back from Harry. “I am not fucking gay, you fucking arse. It’s…it’s sick. You’re sick, and… and...you’re wrong! If you say anything to anyone I'll deny it and everyone will see you for the sick pervert you are. Now leave me the fuck alone and don’t ever touch me again. You make me want to puke.”

The words hit Harry like a hex to the chest. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and could only watch in shocked silence as Malfoy stormed away. Tears prickled his eyes, but he refused to cry for that arrogant bastard. Malfoy was wrong, he knew that, but that didn’t stop the words from tearing through him. A part of him knew Malfoy was just lashing out because he was scared, but he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care how pretty Malfoy was, or how his smile made Harry’s knees feel weak, or how amazing things were when it was just the two of them and Malfoy forgot his inhibitions for a short while; none of that was enough. He was officially done with Malfoy’s shit. He was going to pay attention to Malfoy’s clear signals for once and leave the arsehole the fuck alone.

He just wished it wouldn’t hurt so much.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to deal with his guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering how long this took me to write, not a whole lot happens in this chap! Poor Harry is having a pretty crappy time of it though and this turned out way more angsty than I intended. Draco takes kind of a back seat in this harry-centric chap, but he'll be back soon.

Harry swiped at the dampness in his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie and took a few deep breaths to compose himself. He’d been lucky to not run into anyone on his way back, but the common room would likely be heaving, so he needed to pull himself together a bit before trying to make his way to his room just in case his plan to sneak in unseen didn't work out. The last thing he needed was for his friends to notice he was upset; they’d be all over him if they did, dripping with concern and worry, and he didn’t need or want the fuss. All he wanted was to go back to bed and try not to think about how everything was falling apart around him, then maybe tomorrow he'd wake up and things wouldn’t seem as bad.

He was hit with a solid wall of heat and noise as soon as he stepped through the doorway into the common room; it looked like every single person in his year, and quite a few sixth and seventh years too, were squashed into the sofas and floor area around the fireplace (everyone except Malfoy, that was), and each person was trying to talk over the top of everyone else, tossing theories back and forth, repeating the many rumours that had already taken flight, and creating a fair few more. Harry ducked his head down and tried his best to look inconspicuous as he navigated past the discarded school bags, half eaten snacks, and various items of clothing that had somehow accumulated on the floor already that morning.

“Harry! Hey! Harry, wait up!” Harry cursed inwardly as Seamus’ voice cut through the chatter and caused more than a few heads to turn in his direction. He gritted his teeth and briefly considered pretending he hadn’t heard anything, but before he could take evasive action, Seamus had extracted himself from the crowd and had slung a friendly arm around his shoulders.

“Mate, you up for Quidditch later, yeah? Cormac checked with McGoggles and we’re still cleared to play, as long as we stop if the Aurors ask.”

Bollocks. He had completely forgotten about their Saturday Quidditch game. Seamus' face fell as he watched Harry struggle for an excuse, clearly anticipating his answer.

"Come on, man, you're our star seeker! Don't let Ginny hand us our arses again," he begged, his fingers digging into Harry's shoulder as he shook him gently.

“Sorry, um, I’m actually not feeling too good. I might give it a miss today. Probably just going to try and sleep,” Harry mumbled, hoping that most people would accept that his shabby appearance was due to illness, and let him pass without further probing.

Seamus slumped into Harry’s side, almost dragging the pair of them to the floor. “What? No! Harry! We need you!”

A rumble of disappointment passed around those who'd been near enough to hear the exchange, but for most, gossiping about the previous night's events trumped any drama surrounding a friendly Quidditch match.

Unfortunately, there were still a few interested parties.

“What’s going on?” Hermione piped up, and Harry tried really hard not to roll his eyes. She was the last person he wanted to notice him—she had never once fallen for any of his lies or half-truths.

“It’s nothing, ‘mione. Just not feeling too good. I’ll sleep it off,” he said, waving her off dismissively.

She scrutinized him for a few seconds, and Harry wasn't entirely convinced she couldn't read every one of his thoughts as if his mind was laid open like one of her textbooks. 

“Okay, well you know where I am if you need anything. I’ll come and check on you later,” she said eventually, although the look on her face told him she hadn't believed him for a second. For whatever reason though, she had decided not to call him out in front of everyone, so at least something today was going his way. 

However, he was still pissed off and needed to vent his anger somewhere, so he snapped at Hermione before he could bite the words back.

“Christ, Hermione, you’re not my mum. I’m fine.” He shrugged off Seamus’ arm and stomped through the archway to the dorms, pretending that he didn’t see the looks or hear the sniggers and whispers. So much for avoiding notice. At least people might leave him alone now—no one wanted to harass a pissy Potter.

Once inside the sanctity of his room, he kicked off his shoes and threw himself onto his bed, whipping the curtains shut around him. His hand automatically went to the stone of the necklace around his throat, and then he just lay there, staring blankly at the bed canopy, twisting the stone around the leather thong, while his thoughts raced. He knew he should be concerned about the murders, but the majority of his thoughts were taken up by Malfoy. Had the last few months been a joke to him? Had he imagined their closeness? How could the boy who had sat up with him almost every night, who liked to cuddle into his side, who had gifted him a fucking necklace for Christmas, be the same arsehole who’d just called him sick? He scoured his memories of the two of them together and tried to remember if he’d ever once forced Malfoy to do anything against his will, but he couldn’t think of a single occasion. Maybe Malfoy had been dosed up on potions, or pissed off his face and Harry had unwittingly taken advantage of him? Or maybe it had all been some sick ploy to get inside Harry’s head and destroy him in a way Voldemort had never been able to manage. 

The necklace suddenly felt like barbed wire around his neck, so with trembling fingers, he undid the clasp and flung it to the end of his bed as hard as he could. It hit the curtain with a muffled thud and fell to the floor with an anticlimactic dull clunk; with any luck, it would get lost amongst the detritus under his bed and he wouldn’t ever see it again. He rolled onto his side and curled around his pillow, pressing his face into the soft fabric, and finally let the tears fall. 

——

Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in his room, drifting in and out of sleep, but he was eternally grateful that no one had tried to disturb him so far. Blaise had come in at some point during the day and pottered about for a bit, and Harry had waited tensely for him to pass comment or berate him for upsetting Malfoy, but he had left after only a short while without saying anything and hadn’t returned since. He gazed blankly up at the canopy of his bed. He felt drained. Wrung out. But at least his brain was finally too numb to torture him constantly with reruns of the previous twenty-four hours. 

His stomach growled insistently, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. It must be quite late, but the thick curtains around his bed let in hardly any light so he really had no idea what time of day it was; judging from the sounds his stomach was making though, it had to be sometime around dinner, or later. Harry had absolutely no intention of leaving his bed though, not while there was still a chance that people were out of bed; his eyes still felt puffy and sore from crying into his pillow on and off all day and he probably wouldn’t be able to pass it off as illness if he got spotted now. Resignedly, he squashed down thoughts of his hunger. He'd gone for longer on less—he just had to wait until everyone was asleep and he could sneak down to the kitchens. The house elves wouldn’t notice his red eyes and demand to know what was wrong like so many of his friends. He gazed unseeingly into the gloom of his self-imposed prison and didn’t fight the heaviness that soon dragged his eyelids closed.

A faint tapping on the door pulled him from his sleepy haze maybe a few moments, maybe a few hours later. He stretched the kinks out of his back and fumbled around for his glasses. He didn’t plan on opening the door, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. 

The knocking came again, a bit more insistent this time. He sat up and tilted his head to one side, trying to determine if there were any other sounds that would give him a clue as to the identity of the knocker. 

Another knock, harder again. The door rattled in its frame.

“Harry, come on, I know you’re in there.”

Hermione. Of course. She’d said she was going to check up on him, and here she was. He said a quick prayer of thanks to whoever set up the charms on the dormitory doors so that only a room’s occupants could unlock the door. He doubted it would be enough to stop Hermione if she was truly determined to see him, but it might at least delay the inevitable and put her off for a bit.

A low rumbling that sounded suspiciously like Blaise’s velvet tones reached his ears in between knocks. Shit. He suspected even Blaise would be unable to stand up to Hermione if she was intent on entering the room. Harry flopped back down onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his face; maybe he could pretend he was still asleep and they’d all bugger off.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the door clicked open, and Harry heard Blaise mutter a quick ‘sorry’ before the door swung shut. He lay motionless, hidden behind the curtains, and waited for Hermione to say her piece, as she no doubt would whether he wanted to hear it or not.

“Harry James Potter, I know you’re not sleeping, and I know you’re not sick, so please draw your curtains and tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded after the briefest of judgmental pauses.

Harry groaned. He could practically hear the hands resting on her hips as she entered scalding mode. “I told you I’m fine. Can’t a guy spend all day in bed without his friends interfering for once?” He replied, his voice muffled by the pillow over his face.

“Come on mate, we’re just worried. This isn’t like you. Just prove to Hermione you’re alive, let her mother you for a bit, and then we’ll leave you alone.” Oh good. Ron was there too. Why did he care what Harry did all of a sudden?

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, and Harry heard a soft thump and an _oof_ as the back of her hand no doubt connected with Ron’s chest. “Please Harry, we’re worried about you,” she said. Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly, but it was enough that Harry felt a prickle of guilt across his skin. He ran a hand over his face and pushed his hair back off his face. “And besides, I’m sure you’ll want to hear about all the gossip from the day,” she added.

Reluctantly, Harry sat up and opened his curtains with a brief flick of his hand. He shuffled to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs around until his feet were on the floor. 

“Hey,” he said, squinting as lamp light hit eyes that had been in darkness all day.

“Merlin, Harry, did you get hit in the face with a stinging hex? You look like shit,” Ron exclaimed, his face an odd mix of shock and concern.

Harry didn’t bother to conceal his scowl. Seriously, what was he doing here? “Thanks, Ron,” he muttered.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, before invading his personal space, wrapping her arms around him, and crushing his face into her chest, blocking any scathing comment Harry might have wanted throw in the direction of the lanky, ginger git.

“Umf, Hermione! I’m okay, alright? I just needed some time to myself. Please, don’t worry,” he said, gently pushing her away to create some space between them. Hermione reluctantly stepped back and resumed her position at Ron’s side, although she looked ready to jump back in and smother him at a moment’s notice.

“You know that’s not going to stop her, right?” Ron said, adding: “What? Just saying!” when Hermione whipped her head round to glare at him.

“I wish you’d let us help you with whatever’s going on in your head right now. Is it…Is everything okay with—” Hermione’s eyes darted quickly over to Ron, “—your boyfriend?” 

Harry pretended not to see Ron fidgeting awkwardly at Hermione’s side. He sighed and considered how much he wanted to say. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his friends, but everything was so tangled up right now, and there was no way they could have the whole truth. “He’s…we’re not…we’re not together anymore.” Hermione looked poised to fling herself around him again, so he held a hand up to halt her and added, “I really don’t want to talk about it so can you just drop it?”

Her face fell. “Of course. But anytime you want to talk…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know where you are. Thanks, Hermione.” He shot her a subdued smile to let her know that he truly was appreciative of her despite acting like a mardy git.

She wrapped him up tightly in another suffocating hug, and he didn’t try to fight it. The contact actually felt good after a day spent inside his own head, but his guilt spiked spike because he’d spent the entire day dreading this very situation. He wished he’d sought Hermione out earlier; why had he ever thought a day spent alone with only his own head for company was a good idea? He was so tempted to spill the whole truth about the previous night, and about his not-quite-relationship mess with Malfoy…but that would mean more questions and judgement, and he didn’t feel up to defending his choices just yet.

“We brought you some dinner, by the way,” Ron said once Hermione had untangled herself from Harry. “Sorry about your, um, boyfriend,” he mumbled, his cheeks darkening, as Harry took the napkin-wrapped parcel from him. “And sorry for being a dick to you about it. It’s no business of mine who you’re shagging.”

Harry nodded his acknowledgement of Ron’s apology and some of the tension he’d been holding seeped out of his muscles. “Thanks, mate,” he said quietly. It was more of a relief than he’d thought it would be, having them both back on his side again, although only time would tell if Ron really was sorry. He privately wondered whether either of them would be so okay with his choices if they found out about him and Malfoy, not that he actually had to worry about that now that Malfoy hated his guts. 

He shuffled to the side to make space for his friends on his bed and then greedily tucked into the snacks they’d brought him, suddenly remembering how hungry he was. They quickly settled into their usual positions—Harry and Hermione at the head of the bed, and Ron laying on his back with his head on Hermione’s lap—and for a time it felt like nothing had changed, like there was no new dark cloud hanging over the school, but the conversation eventually turned from general school gossip to a rundown of all the rumours they’d heard as Ron and Hermione filled him in on everything that had happened since that morning’s announcement. 

“They’ve only taken Slytherin students for interviews so far, so you can imagine what that’s doing for inter-house unity. Pansy was questioned for over an hour this afternoon, and Theo says Draco was gone for even longer. It’s awful,” Hermione said, dragging her fingers absently through Ron’s hair and gently teasing out the knots.

Harry frowned and tried to ignore the way his heart rate picked up at the mention of Malfoy. “Why would they only be questioning Slytherins?”

“Dunno mate, but they clearly know something they’re not sharing with the rest of us,” Ron replied.

Hermione hummed in agreement, adding; “Or they’re being lazy and going for the obvious first without considering how damaging it is to everyone in that house. Did you know, I’ve already had to intervene once today when I saw some Ravenclaws picking on a couple of Slytherin second years, and it’s only been a few hours!”

“Shit,” Harry muttered. How could the Aurors be so thoughtless? The last thing the school needed was for the fragile friendships between houses to be torn apart. He wondered what Malfoy had been questioned about, and whether he had said anything. Would he have blamed Harry for everything in order to take the heat off himself? It’s not like they’d done anything too bad though—they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but would the Aurors see it that way, especially if they thought he and Malfoy were withholding information? Fuck, but this was turning into such a mess. Not for the first time, he questioned the sanity of their decision to keep quiet about what they’d seen, but then, it was only the first few hours of the investigation. Things would surely calm down after a couple of days. They had to.

———

The next week of school was awful. Harry’s guilt over the way Slytherins were being treated by students and Aurors alike was a persistent dull ache he felt all the way down to his bones, and every time he saw another student tormented just for the colour of their robes, the guilt was whipped up further. He was exhausted from the constant battle in his head between his desire to protect Malfoy and his desire to Do The Right Thing. He’d barely slept, what with his guilty conscience competing with his nightmares to see who could keep him awake the longest, and he had all but lost his appetite. To make matters worse, Malfoy refused to speak with him, or even glance in his direction. Harry had spent every night sitting in the common room hoping to see a familiar blond head emerge from his room, hoping they would talk, clear the air, maybe even kiss a bit, but he never showed up.

Even Blaise had stopped being friendly towards Harry, and Harry found that hurt almost as much as Malfoy’s pretence that he no longer existed. He could feel Blaise’s eyes on him whenever they were alone together in their room, but he always turned away if Harry looked at him. He never spoke either, other than to stiffly ask for Harry to move his stuff, or ask if he was done with the bathroom, but several times Harry had heard him draw in a breath as if he were about to speak, only to remain silent. Blaise’s withdrawal of friendship was just another hefty crap on the steaming pile of shite his life had become in the last week, and even with Ron and Hermione’s support, he felt lonely and rejected. He hadn’t even realised just how good of a friend Blaise had become until he’d extracted himself from Harry’s life.

But what hurt more than Malfoy’s rejection, more than Blaise’s stony silence and rigid politeness, was that Malfoy didn’t appear to be affected by anything at all. He hadn’t hidden himself away and moped, or reverted to the shell of a person he’d been at the start of the school year. No. He’d suddenly become _popular_ , and the transformation boggled Harry’s mind as much as it cut him to his core. He couldn't comprehend how it was even possible to go from social pariah to the hottest piece of arse in the school in the space of a few days, but somehow Malfoy had managed it. And to make matters worse, because of course, his life couldn't just be mildly crap- it had to go full on end-of-the-world levels of crap, no matter where Harry went, there was Malfoy too, and always in the company of one or more girls, acting aggressively straight, as if he was trying to rub his heterosexuality in Harry's face. 

———— 

Things with Blaise finally came to a head late one night towards the end of was quickly becoming one of the worst weeks in Harry’s life, and that was saying something since he’d had a ton of shit to deal with over the years. Harry’s potions essay was finally starting to take shape when Blaise stormed into their shared room, throwing his bag in the direction of his desk as he slammed the door shut behind him. Harry watched carefully over one shoulder, as one might a dangerous animal, while Blaise paced back and forth a few times before sitting down on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together while he eyed Harry suspiciously. Harry could tell he wanted to say something, that he'd wanted to say something for several days now, but something had clearly happened to push him over the edge.

“Neville told me that Draco didn't get back to their room until after four am on Saturday morning,” he stated bluntly. 

Harry turned away from his desk and gave Blaise his full attention.“Yeah?” He said cautiously, hoping that Blaise wouldn’t hear the guilt seeping through into his voice. How could Malfoy have been so careless and woken up his roommate?

“Yeah. And I know you didn't come into our room until around that time too,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous.

Shit. Why were Blaise and Neville comparing notes on their roommates all of a sudden? Harry absently scratched at his chest, his skin feeling too tight all of a sudden. “Um, what? I was just in the common room. You know I go there where I can't sleep,” he said, his voice somehow remaining steady despite the turmoil raging inside.

“Yes, but usually you come to bed first. Both you and Draco disappeared in the evening, then neither of you reappear until four in the morning. What's going on?”

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Why was it suddenly so hot in here? Where had all the oxygen gone?

Blaise stood up and took a few steps towards Harry. Harry’s wand hand twitched in response, but he resisted drawing it. Escalating things in that way would probably not be a sensible move. “How can you say that?” Blaise yelled, leaning in until his face was mere inches from Harry's. He was so close, Harry could see each freckle, each eyelash, each minute variation in the deep brown of his eyes. After a few tense seconds, Blaise drew in a breath and visibly reigned himself in, scratching a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Of course I'm going to worry," he said firmly, having gained control over his emotions. "They've questioned Draco almost every day this week and they're constantly watching him. If you know something that could help him, you have to say something!”

“I…shit. Look, it’s complicated.” Blaise scowled and looked about to speak again, but Harry cut him off. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to work out what to do but Malfoy won’t even fucking look at me! If he wants my help he can damn well come and ask for it instead of getting off with some Ravenclaw bitch in full view of everyone.”

Blaise scoffed. “Oh, so because you’re having a pissy little jealous fit, you’re going let him suffer? Let the rest of Slytherin suffer? Get over yourself, Potter. I thought you were better than this.”

“Fuck you,” Harry spat. Feelings of guilt and jealousy twisted together, raw and painful, flooding through him as he stormed out of the room. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay in the same room as Blaise right now. Maybe Ron would let him sleep in his room…although probably not given how he still seemed to think Harry was barely restraining himself from fucking him into the floor, despite his overtures of acceptance. Fuck, but he was lonely.

Harry kept to himself for the rest of week, much like he’d been doing already; finding a quiet corner of the library or an empty classroom to hide in until it was time to sneak back into his room and attempt to sleep. Malfoy’s assumption that the whole mess would all blow over in a few days really wasn't panning out. The Aurors clearly knew something, some detail that they weren't sharing that implicated someone at the school or why else would they be so focused on Hogwarts? If he could only get Malfoy to speak to him, perhaps they could formulate a plan, decide on a story which would explain their presence but keep their activities secret. He supposed he could try and approach Malfoy first, like Blaise had suggested, but he was still too sore from their argument and he didn’t want Blaise to be right. Besides, from what he’d seen, Malfoy was too busy sucking face with that Ravenclaw girl (and some blond thing from Slytherin if rumours were to be believed) so he probably didn’t even have time to speak to Harry.

———

On Wednesday, almost two weeks since that awful night when Harry’s world started to unravel, McGonagall once again called the whole school to the Great Hall, so Harry reluctantly dragged himself to dinner instead of sneaking down to the kitchens or summoning a house elf to bring him snacks to the library or an empty classroom (he had stopped that though after Hermione caught him and accused him of abusing their devotion to him). 

The Great Hall was abuzz with conversation when he and Hermione finally walked in, but there was a nervous edge to it. No one was quite sure what they were about to be told, but there were plenty of theories. Harry tried to shut out the noise and concentrate on eating so Hermione wouldn’t frown at him. She’d done that a lot recently. He scanned the Slytherin table, ignoring Hermione’s muttered comment and rolled eyes. Malfoy wasn’t sat in his usual spot beside Blaise—maybe he was off shagging his latest conquest? Neville was there though, laughing about something with Blaise. Strange. Harry pretended he didn’t feel the tiny jolt of jealousy that struck him upon seeing Blaise and Neville being so friendly. It took him a few moments, but eventually, he spotted Malfoy, sat at the Ravenclaw table with an arm slung casually over a petite, dark-haired girl with a sharp gaze and full lips. He watched as Malfoy leaned in a whispered something in the girl’s ear, causing her to smirk before she kissed him lightly on the cheek. Harry tore his eyes away at that point; he didn’t think the people sat around him would appreciate him puking on the table. He turned his attention back to forcing the tasteless food into his mouth to pass the time until McGonagall saw fit to tell them what the hell was going on.

After what felt like a painfully long time, the tables were cleared and the Headmistress stood up to address the hall. Auror Beaumont was stood to one side, along with several of her team, including the mousy-haired, big-eared man who’d interviewed Harry briefly a few days previously. She was the only one of her team who didn’t look bored as she scanned the crowd, searching for something Harry could only guess at. He tried not to let the shudder show as his eyes briefly met hers. He had seen Auror Beaumont on several occasions during the week and half following the murders, skulking around the corridors and watching students from the shadows, and he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine every time he caught sight of her. She always appeared to be friendly enough, in a professionally detached sort of way, but there was something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was probably just her treatment of the Slytherin students, he told himself. And the fact that he was certain she would be able to sense his guilt if he let her get too close; her shrewd eyes didn’t seem to miss anything, and Harry was well aware that his ability to lie was pretty much non-existent. Thankfully, she hadn’t been present for his interview, and the guy who'd actually had conducted it, mousy-big-ear man, seemed to be just going through the motions, asking the standard questions to tick a few boxes and say the interview had been done. 

 

———

Hermione folded her legs beneath her and smoothed out the fabric of her robes over her lap as she settled herself down at the foot of Harry’s bed. She’d given up trying to get him to socialise with the rest of the eighth years in the common room, but he’d lost the battle to spend his evening in the library. When he’d expressed shock at her advising against going to the library, she’d argued that libraries were for studying, not for sulking, so now they were in his room, and he was most assuredly not sulking.

“I can’t believe they found a school tie in the Shrieking Shack. It’s no wonder they’re still investigating.”

Harry grimaced at his hands as he twisted a quill between his fingers, but he didn’t say anything. He’d felt sick ever since McGonagall’s earlier summary of the ongoing investigation.

“D’you reckon the rumours are true then? D’you think it was used as some sort of shag pad?” Ron said, his eyes wide with wonder. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ronald. What do you think Harry?”

He shrugged. He couldn’t get the images of Malfoy draped over that dark-haired girl at dinner out of his head. They’d kept up their public display of nauseating tenderness throughout McGonagall’s speech, and Harry had been unable to tear his eyes away. The sight of one of her hands disappearing below the table, and Malfoy’s subsequent blush, was almost enough to send him storming out of the hall, but instead, he’d just sat there stewing in a jealous rage while those around him threw suspicious sideways glances his way.

“Harry? You know you can tell us if there’s something wrong, right?” She leaned forward and rested a slender hand on his knee, her eyes boring into him.

He smiled unsteadily at her. “I know ‘mione,” he said quietly, unable to meet her concerned gaze. His eyes burned as he tried to hold back the emotions that surged forwards. He really needed to talk to someone, and here were his best friends, eager and ready to listen, but how could he tell them? What would they think of him if they knew he’d been there and actually heard the murders and could have done something to prevent it, but instead cowered in a corner with Malfoy, of all people. What would they say if they knew he’d been unable to sleep because Malfoy no longer wanted anything to do with him? What would they say if they knew he cried every night not because he felt remorse for the victims, but because he missed Malfoy so much? 

He drew in a shaky breath and looked up into the faces of his two closest friends and something inside him snapped. He crumpled in on himself and just let the tears fall. He allowed himself to take strength in the warmth of his friends’ bodies as they wrapped their arms around him and held him tightly, murmuring soft words of reassurance and rubbing circles into his back.

When the tide of emotion receded enough that he could talk again, he haltingly recounted what happened, only leaving out details pertaining to Malfoy and substituting in his ‘mystery boyfriend’; he wasn’t quite ready for that level of frankness yet. Ron and Hermione both remained silent as he spoke, but neither left his side. He could feel their eyes on him the entire time he was speaking, but he didn’t look up from his hands.

The words finally dried up and they both sat in silence for a short while, digesting what they’d heard. Harry felt emotionally drained, and now all he wanted to do was sleep.

“You have to tell someone what you saw,” Hermione said quietly, breaking the silence between them.

“I know,” he replied, looking up and meeting her eyes for the first time, "but what if they make me tell them about... _him_?"

Hermione smiled sympathetically. "But what about all the people that could get hurt from your silence?" 

"Yeah, and what about all the Slytherin kids that are getting hurt right now?" Ron added.

Harry hung his head and grasped his hair in his fists, before releasing it with a frustrated huff. “Tomorrow. I promise. I’ll speak to McGonagall first thing," he ground out.

“Would you like us to come too?” Hermione asked softly. She was treating him as if he might break at any second, and Harry would have objected, but he thought there was a strong chance he might.

“No. I… I think it’ll be better if I go alone.”

Hermione pursed her lips and looked like she might press the matter, but instead engulfed him in a tight embrace. “Okay, but let me know if you change your mind,” she whispered into his neck. 

 

——

Harry slept heavier than he had in a long time after unloading on Ron and Hermione, and he awoke groggy and confused when the sun pierced through his half drawn drapes. He had a brief moment of blissful ignorance before the weight of everything that had happened in the last fortnight crashed down upon him. He groaned and rolled out of bed, resolving to speak to McGonagall before breakfast so he wouldn’t have a chance to talk himself out of it.

His trainers slapped against the hard stone floor, the sound echoing loudly in the empty corridors. It was early, so there had been no one up when he passed through the common room meaning he hadn’t needed to explain where he was going, but he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing. He moved slowly, part of him still searching for an excuse not to go—maybe Filch would see him and send him back to his room. Maybe he’d trip and fall down a staircase… He should have made more effort to try and speak to Malfoy; he knew the other boy would be livid when he found out Harry had blabbed, even though he’d kept Malfoy’s name out of it so far. Hermione was right though—he couldn’t keep quiet, not when other people could get seriously hurt or killed. He didn’t think the information he had was enough to catch the murderer, but at the very least, it might mean they move their focus away from Hogwarts, and stop wasting their resources on a pointless hunt for a couple of randy school kids.

McGonagall was surprised to see him when he turned up at her office, but she invited him in without question anyway and directed him to sit in a large armchair, while she settled its twin that sat the other side of a small coffee table. She summoned tea and biscuits from somewhere and poured them both a cup as Harry fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his hoodie, alternately tugging them down to cover his fingers and picking at the ragged edges. He should probably by some new clothes—it’s not like he couldn’t afford them, but before the war it had seemed so frivolous, spending money on clothes when he thought he was going to die before he got a chance to wear them, and now he just hated going out in public.

“I assume you didn’t come here for the company, so what may I help you with this morning, Mr Potter?” McGonagall said sharply, drawing Harry’s attention away from his wardrobe choices.

Harry faltered for a moment, unsure of how to start. He knew she would be mad at him for breaking curfew, for leaving school grounds, for withholding information, and for being the reason the Aurors had been harassing students solidly for almost two weeks, but sitting in her office with her curious gaze bearing down on him, it suddenly dawned on him that he could actually get expelled. He glanced at the portraits on the wall, looking for something or someone to draw strength from, but the occupants were all either absent or asleep. Shit, it really was early.

“I have some information. About that night. The one with the murders,” he blurted.

McGonagall stiffened in her chair, managing to sit even more rigidly than before. She arched an eyebrow minutely, and Harry would have missed the movement if he hadn't been staring intently at her face, searching for some clue as to her emotion. “Go on,” she encouraged when Harry remained silent. Her face was carefully blank, giving away nothing about her true feelings. He was relieved that she didn’t look angry, but then, she had no idea what he was about to say.

“It’s my tie. I was there, and I dropped it.” Her eyes widened fractionally, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a couple of the portraits stir. “I didn’t actually see anything, not really anyway. I mean, we, er, sorry, I saw them all brewing a potion, but they all had hoods on so I never saw their faces, and then the one that killed the others, a witch, well she was about to kill me and then the Aurors arrived and she disapparated, and we, er, I ran back through the tunnel to the school.” He panted, having forgotten to draw breath properly as the words tumbled from his lips, and balled his hands into fists inside the sleeves of his top to try and stop them shaking.

“I see,” McGonagall said, her voice cold and precise. “Overlooking, for now, the fact that you left school grounds against my express orders, why are you only now coming forward with this? And who are you protecting?”

Harry shook his head. “I…I…there was no one else. Just me. No one.”

“Harry, I know you. You can be foolhardy and reckless, and you often seem to think rules are only there for other people, but there is almost always a noble reason for your behaviour. Forgive me for not believing you when you say you wandered down to the Shrieking Shack, at night, by yourself to do what? Read? Crochet? And just happened to stumble upon these criminals.”

“But I did! Happen to stumble upon them, I mean, not read or do crochet," he said hurriedly. The headmistress said nothing, just continued to stare at him across the table, her lips pursed tightly, her eyes cool and knowing. Harry felt like he was eleven years old again. He slumped in resignation. "I… I was meeting someone there," he mumbled. "We wanted to hang out in private. I didn’t know there would be anyone else there. The shack is supposed to be abandoned!”

“And who were you meeting?” 

Harry grimaced. It was one thing admitting to his best friends that he had gone there for a romantic picnic followed by a blowjob and maybe, hopefully, a shag, but the thought of McGonagall knowing those things about him sent a shiver down his spine. So much for having a ‘noble reason’.

“You realise the Aurors are going to have far more probing questions, don’t you? I don’t need details, I’m more than capable of working out why a young man might want to spend time privately with another individual—” Harry blanched “—but I would like to know who else from the school is involved, and why you didn’t feel it was important enough to say anything before now. Every single student and staff member has been inconvenienced these past two weeks while the Aurors try and locate the mystery student or students, and you could have prevented this. Did you not even consider the wasted resources that could have gone into tracking down the real culprit?”

Harry hung his head and his cheeks burned with the shame. “I know, I’m sorry, I really am, I just didn’t know what to do,” he mumbled sadly. He paused and took a deep breath, then let the words spill from his mouth without engaging his brain. “I was supposed to meet this guy there, my… um… my now ex-boyfriend but he never showed. And, well, we’re not out, and I don’t really care if people know about me, but he thinks he will actually be in danger if his parents find out about him, and so we just kind of hoped that it would blow over. It’s not like I actually saw anything so I didn’t think my information would be useful. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know about the tie.” He finished meekly.

The headmistress glared at him without speaking for several tense seconds, and he kept his eyes trained on his lap, unwilling to look up and see the disappointment he was certain must be present in her face.

“Who was the other boy? The student you were meeting," she asked eventually.

Harry snapped his head up. “Oh, er, he’s not from Hogwarts. It’s just some guy I met over the summer.” The lie fell so easily from his lips he almost believed it himself.

“I see. Well, I suppose I can’t force him to come forward too. The Aurors will want his name though to corroborate your story.”

“No!" snapped Harry without thinking, before shrinking back at McGonagall's narrowed gaze. "I…um, they can’t make me tell them can they? He didn’t see anything! I can tell them everything I saw, but I won’t, I can’t, give him up.” He stared back defiantly, despite his insides feeling like jelly.

“On your head be it. I would strongly advise against deliberately lying in an official interview, but I can’t force you to say anything. Now, drink up your tea and when you’re done, I’ll summon Auror Beaumont.”

Harry's mouth dropped open. “Now?”

“Of course, Potter. It’s imperative they speak with you as soon as possible. Then maybe we can finally get some peace,” she added under her breath.

Harry sunk down petulantly, into his chair, but he didn’t argue. 

“One last thing, Potter. They will probably try and force you to provide a pensieve memory, but remember that you are not obliged to acquiesce. I’ll not allow them to bully my students—even the ones who should know better. Once they’ve finished questioning you, we can talk about the punishment for your flagrant disregard of the rules.”

Harry groaned and slunk down even further, resigned to his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr and yell at me for writing too slow! https://coriesocks.tumblr.com/


End file.
